My last whacking from Mother was memorable for all the wrong reasons – especially as I was no longer a schoolboy but had started my first job in an office.
Mother and Father bought me an old BSA Bantam 125 motorbike to make my commute easier. I was so proud of it and back then you could ride such a bike without any training or passing a test.
One day, I was running late and the lollipop lady, Mrs Jones, had the traffic stopped. I weaved past the traffic and got to the front as the children were nearing the pavement. I decided it was safe to go even though the stop sign was still displayed. As I pulled away, Mrs Jones turned to walk to the pavement and I just avoided her before accelerating away. I realised I was in the wrong, but dismissed the thought.
After work I put my motorbike away and went in through the front door. Father was working away but I could hear voices in the lounge. As I entered, Mother shouted my full name loudly. My immediate thought was that I was in big trouble, Mother only called me like that if I had misbehaved badly. I opened the door and saw Mother, Mrs Jones – and a policeman. Mrs Jones had obviously recognised me. I suppose I should have known this, as I had passed her every day on the way to school for years.
Mother asked me if I knew why they were there and I said ‘yes’. Mother explained that Mrs Jones had a quiet word with the policeman who was in the school that morning. They had agreed to not pursue the matter formally but to speak to her. If they felt I had been suitably punished, then the matter would be dropped.
The policeman then gave me a long lecture about the dangers of my riding and told me that I was lucky not to be prosecuted. Mrs Jones explained that her husband had died in a road accident and she was furious about my riding, so wanted to see me punished severely. It was at this point that I began to fear the worst.
Mother then pronounced my punishment. I was to be banned from using my bike for a week, making my commute harder and more expensive due to bus fares. I also had to catch a very early bus so it would be a long day. She then confirmed my fear by telling me I was going to be whacked.
I protested, but it was pointed out that I was lucky not to be going to court – it was only due to Mrs Jones’s kind nature that she came to see Mother. I pleaded that I was too old, but that got me nowhere too. Mother then disappeared before returning with a leather strap like the one Aunt Pat used. She said that Aunt Pat had given it to her many years earlier but she had not felt comfortable using it. Today was different.
.I knew it was pointless arguing and obeyed.
That idea went out of the window, though, as Mother made me face my accuser while she got a chair from the kitchen. The chair was then placed so that my bottom would be facing Mrs Jones and the policeman, and I was instructed to bend over it.
Mother stood alongside me and I felt the strap touch my buttocks. It soon lashed down hard and Mother continued at a steady pace, causing me to cry. Then she hesitated, and I was hopeful that the punishment was over. No such luck – Mother handed the strap to Mrs Jones, who needed no encouragement. She whacked just as hard and much faster, causing me to yelp as each stroke landed.
After about eight whacks she stopped. I was ordered to get back in position by Mother, and Mrs Jones handed the strap to the policeman. I was told that if I had gone to court, I would have got at least three points on my licence so I was to receive three whacks from the officer.
He was very enthusiastic and whacked me much harder than the women, making me yelp even louder. Finally, Mother took the strap and told me to stand and apologise to Mrs Jones. I did as requested, and hoped I could leave. But no – Mother ordered me to stand in the corner facing them, hands on my head, while they finished their tea and cake. I was so embarrassed and they seemed to take forever as they chatted a lot.
Eventually she and the policeman left and Mother told me to go to my bedroom.
The week seemed very long and I certainly learned from the experience. I rode the motorbike with much more care after that. The whacking had been my most embarrassing and painful – Mother very rarely spanked me and it was usually either her hand or a wooden spoon.
About a month later, I bumped into the Mrs Jones in town. She was really friendly and we went for a coffee. We had quite a laugh about the whacking and we seemed to be getting on well, considering that she was twice my age.
That was my last whacking from Mother, but not my final dose of corporal punishment. I had to stay away for three months on a training course and got a few whackings there – but that’s a story for another time.
