In the spring of 1975, my brother and I were living with my Aunt Rita, as my parents were in wales visiting a poorly relative.
Aunt Rita had been brought up on a gypsy site in a caravan but was now living in a flat on a council estate with a bit of a reputation. Having her looking after us was a nightmare come true.
On reflection, we would now look at Aunt Rita a little more sympathetically. However, back then, we were scared of her.
Aunt Rita still resembled some of the gypsy traits in the way she dressed. Back in the early 70s, gypsies were nothing like they are now. They were rough because they had to be to survive that type of life. Her clothes were a mix of colors and patterns, often mismatched. She wore long skirts and shawls, with her hair was fairly unkept.
When spankings were given, my aunt would take a boy at a time into her sitting room. Once there, she would put the boy over her lap and start spanking right away – the culprit would be bawling and bawling as my aunt reddened his bottom with her hand. She never needed an implement; her hand was hard enough. My foster mother used the slipper and spoon on me, however Aunt Ritas smacked bottoms were a lot worse.
A good hard smacked bottom from Aunt Rita was unforgettable. Her hand would come down with a force that felt like a hammer, each smack echoing through the room. The sting would spread instantly, turning the skin a bright, angry red. The pain was sharp and intense, leaving a lasting impression that made sitting down a challenge for hours afterward. The sound of her hand meeting flesh was sharp and could be heard through the walls.
I still remember the dread I felt as my aunt took me into her sitting room. The air would be thick with tension, my heart pounding in my chest. The anticipation was almost as unbearable as the spanking itself. Each step towards the room felt like a march towards doom. The hallway leading to the room seemed to stretch on forever, each step echoing in the silence.
As I was placed over her lap, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of us. The first smack would land with a resounding crack, sending a jolt of pain through my body. Tears would spring to my eyes immediately, and I would cry out, but Aunt Rita was relentless. Each subsequent smack felt like fire on my skin, the pain building with every strike. The room would blur as tears filled my eyes, the only clear sensation being the burning pain on my bottom.
We always knew that we would end up going to bed with a sore bottom. The memory of the spanking would linger, a constant reminder to behave. Needless to say, I behaved most of the time. The fear of another session over Aunt Rita’s lap was enough to keep us in line, at least for a while. The lessons learned from those spankings were harsh but effective, instilling a sense of discipline that stayed with us long after the pain had faded.
Aunt Rita’s methods were harsh, but they were a product of her upbringing and the tough life she had led. She believed in discipline and order, and her way of enforcing it was through physical punishment. It was a different time, and her actions, though severe, were not uncommon. Looking back, I can see that she cared for us in her own strict way, trying to instill values that she believed were important.
Over the years, my brother and I often talked about those days with Aunt Rita. We would laugh about the fear we felt and the lengths we went to avoid her wrath. But there was also a sense of gratitude, a recognition that her tough love had shaped us in ways we didn’t fully understand at the time. Her spankings were a part of our childhood, a painful but integral part of our journey to adulthood.
Now, as an adult, I can look back with a more nuanced perspective. Aunt Rita was a complex figure, a woman shaped by her circumstances and her past. Her methods were harsh, but they were also a reflection of the world she came from. In many ways, she was a survivor, and her toughness was a testament to her resilience. While I don’t condone her methods, I can understand them better now, and I can see the love and care that were hidden beneath her stern exterior.
