This story takes place in the 1970s, a time of bell-bottom jeans, vinyl records, and the ever-present scent of hairspray in the air. It’s about an incident that happened to my cousin Elaine – to this day, we are very close and she cringes every time I mention this to her.
Back then, my parents never spanked me, partly because of experiences my mother had growing up in the strict postwar years. I was spanked in school, though – corporal punishment was just part of the rules in those days, and my parents felt there was little they could do about it. It was the norm in the 1970s, with teachers wielding rulers and canes as if it were just another school supply.
My mother’s sister Lillian was quite the opposite. She was very strict with her two daughters, Elaine and Charlotte, and spanked them frequently. But there was more to it than just strictness. Aunt Lillian struggled with mental health problems, something the adults in the family whispered about but never discussed openly. She was prescribed Valium by her doctor, and everyone in the house knew that if she hadn’t taken her medication, it was best to keep out of her way. I learned early on to be extra careful around her on those days.
The girls are both younger than me. I adored both of them but was closer to Elaine, I suppose because she was older. I would take Elaine to play quite frequently and we always had a good time, whether we were skipping through the park or listening to the latest pop hits on a portable radio. But I would also take care to get her home at the time prescribed by Aunt Lillian – parents in the 1970s were sticklers for punctuality.
Besides just being strict with her daughters, Aunt Lillian would say things in front of other people just to humiliate them. At one time when we went to visit them, she said: “Elaine had a sound spanking just before you got here, so she should be on best behaviour – right, Elaine?” Elaine blushed terribly, with tears welling in her eyes, but she knew better than to protest and meekly nodded. On other occasions, if the girls were (in her opinion) misbehaving, Aunt Lillian would ask them: “Now, which one of you would like to be spanked first later?” It was the kind of public shaming that seemed more common in that era, when parents didn’t hesitate to discipline in front of company.
She would openly discuss their corporal punishment with others, sometimes in graphic detail, and even threaten to show us the resultant marks on their bottoms, although she never did. In the 1970s, these conversations were not as taboo as they would be today.
If either girl protested at the topic of the conversation, it would evoke a retort describing precisely what they might expect at bedtime. One time, Charlotte protested so much that she was told to be kneeling on her bed at bedtime with her bottom pointing up at the ceiling. It seemed like Aunt Lillian would do anything to increase the girls’ humiliation. She had even taken them to the local garden shop for them to choose their own sticks – and let the man behind the counter know exactly what they were for. That was the 1970s for you: privacy was different, and embarrassment was part of growing up.
On a couple of occasions when we were there, I heard Charlotte being spanked in another room, her mother all the while telling her to keep still and stop struggling. Afterwards, while she was still sobbing and rubbing her bottom, Charlotte was made to come into the room where we were all sitting, her face red and puffy. It was a different time, and such scenes were not as shocking as they would be now.
However, despite all the humiliation she heaped upon her daughters, Aunt Lillian never had spanked them in front of anyone – until one particular day in the mid-1970s, which I remember very clearly.
It was a hot and sunny afternoon, the kind of day when the air shimmered above the tarmac and the ice cream van’s jingle echoed through the neighborhood. Elaine and I went to the local market, weaving through stalls selling bell-bottoms, paisley shirts, and vinyl records. Later, we sat in the park, just chatting. Elaine looked so pretty – she was wearing a tight pair of red hotpants that were the fashion of the day and a white T-shirt. Her long hair was set in a bun and Aunt Lillian had allowed her a hint of makeup – she looked so mature for her years, in both her dress and her physique. She could have stepped out of a magazine from 1975.
For some reason I lost track of time, probably distracted by the music from a nearby transistor radio or the laughter of other kids playing hopscotch. Suddenly, I realized we should have been home 15 minutes earlier. I could see the sheer panic in Elaine’s face when I told her and I felt so guilty and apologized.
We began to run back, but we were a good 15 minutes from home and so there was no chance we wouldn’t be at least half an hour late back. No words were exchanged between us on the way home – me because I just didn’t know what to say and Elaine because she was already fighting back tears. The streets were lined with Ford Cortinas and the distant sound of a lawnmower buzzed in the background.
As we came up the path to her front door, Elaine took out her keys and nervously fumbled to get them into the lock. Cheryl must have seen us and opened the door – the expression on her face was a giveaway that Elaine was in big trouble. They seemed to mouth something to each other which I did not understand but it caused Elaine to cry out ‘please, no!’
We followed Elaine into the lounge, with its orange shag carpet and wood-paneled walls – so typical of the 1970s. I saw Aunt Lillian sitting in her armchair, a copy of Woman’s Own magazine on her lap. Then I noticed Elaine look over to the dining room table and she let out a cry: “Please, Mummy, no! I’m sorry! I didn’t see the time – really!”
I looked over and saw the reason for my cousin’s distress – a dining room chair was backed up to the table, and a menacing stick lay next to it. Her mother ignored her pleas and just pointed to the table, with a strict expression on her face.
I interceded and explained to my aunt that it was my fault for not telling Elaine the time. She replied shortly that she was not interested in what I had to say, and that it had been up to Elaine to have asked me what the time was. Charlotte was vigorously shaking her head at me and I understood she wanted me to be quiet for fear of making the situation even worse – if that was even possible.
By now, Elaine had obeyed her mother and was standing by the dining chair with her hands on her head, trying to hold back her tears. I felt really choked up – Elaine was such a sweet girl and I couldn’t bear to see what was about to happen to her. I made as if to leave the room but Aunt Lillian told me in no uncertain terms to stay where I was. She told me: “You have caused this, so I think it’s only right you see the results of your thoughtlessness.”
I froze on the spot – my aunt was so authoritative and again I was concerned about the effect on Elaine’s punishment if I was defiant. I watched as Aunt Lillian walked over to her daughter.
At that point I looked away, not wanting to cause Elaine any more embarrassment than she was about to suffer. When I looked up again, Elaine had clambered on to the chair and was leaning across the table with her head down and arms stretched across. My breath was taken away. Although she had her face away from me, she was facing a mirror and I could see the tears running down her face. The whole scene was framed by the avocado-green curtains and the ticking of a wall clock – pure 1970s.
Her mother began tapping the stick against her bottom – this seemed to be a sign to Elaine, because she pushed her bottom out more. There was a momentary wait and then the sound of the stick swishing through the air. I saw Elaine crease up her facial expression and then whack! The cane landed square across the top of her buttocks.
The implement of chastisement seemed to sink into my cousin’s skin. Elaine let out an initial slight cry (which I suspect was mainly from shock – this was followed instantaneously by a much shriller scream as the stinging sensation crept across her presented bottom. Her body jerked up and she struggled to prevent herself from standing up.
I should say that this was not the first time I had seen a girl caned, although they had been much younger than Elaine. And to be honest, I had also witnessed much harsher strokes than that. I had even experienced them myself on my bottom. I think Elaine was just more sensitive back there than many other children.
There was a momentary pause, then her mother barked: “Well, Elaine?” Elaine choked back the tears and, barely audibly, said: “One – thank you, Mummy.” I had never witnessed this ritual before – the nearest I experienced was from one of my teachers who would count out the smacks herself (‘one and two and three…’) while she spanked my bottom over her knee. Occasionally, some of the little girls at the front of the class would giggle and join in.
Elaine pushed her bottom out again but Aunt Lillian seemed to deliberately delay her next stroke in order to increase her daughter’s stress. Then there was another swishing sound. The stick made its second indentation into my cousin’s bottom, causing her to cry out once more. Her face screwed up in agony and once again she was struggling not to get up. She muttered between sobs: “Two – thank you, Mummy.”
Elaine gingerly pushed her bottom out but before she could finish the third stroke crossed her bottom cheeks. In the mirror, I saw her eyes opened wide in shock – it was as if she was trying to cry out but couldn’t. Eventually, a loud scream emanated from her throat. She wriggled her bottom from side to side in the vain hope it would ease the sting of this third stroke. She gasped for air and then whispered: “Three – thank you, Mummy.”
Aunt Lillian pressed her hand into the small of Elaine’s back, forcing her bottom out and leaving nothing to the imagination. It was clear that it was her mother’s intention to cause the girl maximum humiliation.
Finally, Aunt Lillian addressed her errant daughter: “Well, Elaine, What do you have to say for yourself?”
There was a pause whilst Elaine composed herself. Fighting back the tears, she took a and said: “I am sorry for being a naughty girl and thoroughly deserved to have my bottom caned.” Her mother tapped the stick menacingly against her daughter’s bottom and asked: “Your what caned, Elaine?” The girl quickly replied: “My bottom, Mummy – my bottom. Thank you.”
Aunt Lillian prepared to give her daughter a fourth stroke. Elaine tried to close her legs again but her mother said: “Too late for that, young lady – everyone has seen everything you have there now, anyway, so keep it like that.”
Elaine was left with no choice but to obey. Her mother must have noticed it too and she told her daughter to get up, go to her room and stand in the corner with her hands on her head. Elaine hopped down and dashed past me – I averted my eyes.
When she had gone, Aunt Lillian looked at me and said: “Well, young man, I hope you’re sorry about all this.” I nodded and left as quickly as I could, in case my aunt suddenly had the idea to cane me too.
I was not allowed to see Elaine for two weeks after that incident but when I did, she did not make me feel guilty about what had happened and actually said she hoped I hadn’t been embarrassed at seeing her like that.
You may be sure that when we next went out together, I made absolutely certain Elaine was home on time. In the 1970s, you learned your lessons quickly – especially if Aunt Lillian hadn’t taken her Valium that day.
