(gap: 2s) During my childhood, I spent a memorable weekend in the care of my maternal grandparents, while my parents were away. Although I was still quite young, I had already begun to develop a rather determined nature, particularly when adults—be they parents, grandparents, or teachers—requested my assistance.
My grandparents’ farm was set at the end of a long, winding drive, stretching nearly two hundred metres to the road. Whenever one was asked to take out the rubbish, it meant a considerable walk to the bin at the roadside.
It was a bright Saturday morning. Grandmother was preparing to visit the village to purchase groceries. As she made her preparations, she asked me to take out the rubbish.
Grandmother was the very picture of gentle authority, much like the kindly but firm ladies one might read about in a favourite storybook. She wore a neat floral dress, the fabric soft and faded from many washings, with a sturdy, practical apron tied firmly about her waist. Over her shoulders was draped a warm, knitted cardigan in a shade of blue that matched her clear, steady eyes. Her shoes were sensible and polished, and her hair, streaked with silver, was swept back into a tidy bun. Every movement she made was precise and unhurried, her hands deft and sure as she gathered her shopping list and checked her handbag. There was a calm composure about her, a gentle dignity, and when she spoke, her voice was measured and kind, yet carried a firmness that allowed for no nonsense. As she looked at me, her expression was loving but resolute, and I knew she meant every word she said.
As she finished her preparations, she asked me once more to take out the rubbish. This was not a task I wished to perform, so I pretended not to hear her request.
Just before she left, she said, “Sarah, I expect to find that task completed by the time I return. Do you understand?” I replied, “Yes, Grandmother,” in my most dutiful manner, but I made no effort to rise from the sofa, where I was watching a programme on the wireless television.
I am certain you can imagine what happened next. Grandmother returned, and I had still not taken out the rubbish. She began to admonish me, saying, “Being part of a family means that we help one another, Sarah. If I can take the time to prepare your meals, the least you can do is assist by taking out the rubbish.”
With that, she went into the kitchen, and I heard her step out of the back door. I truly believed I had escaped the consequences of my inaction.
However, about five minutes later, she returned and told me she wished to see me in the woodshed. Since the occasion when I had accidentally broken one of Grandmother’s porcelain birds, I knew precisely what a summons to the woodshed entailed, and so I made my way there very slowly indeed.
When I arrived at the woodshed, the air was cool and carried the scent of cut wood and earth. Sunlight streamed through the cracks in the wooden walls, casting golden stripes upon the floor. Grandmother stood waiting, her figure outlined by the gentle light.
She was the very image of composed authority, her floral dress and apron immaculate even in the rustic setting, her cardigan buttoned neatly and her sensible shoes planted firmly on the earthen floor. She stood with her hands folded, her posture upright and calm, and her eyes, though gentle, were unwavering. Every gesture she made was deliberate and precise, from the way she beckoned me forward to the manner in which she closed the door behind me. “Sarah, come in and close the door behind you.” I obeyed, my heart beating rapidly, and Grandmother sat down upon a sturdy log. She took my chin in her hand, her touch gentle but unyielding, and made me look directly into her eyes. Her voice, when she spoke, was soft and measured, yet carried a weight of loving authority that left no room for argument.
“You have been a very naughty girl by not doing as you were told. If I ask you to take out the rubbish, I expect you to obey. Do you understand, Sarah?” I nodded, my cheeks burning with shame. “Now you must be punished for your disobedience. What happens to naughty girls in this house?”
I made a final, desperate plea. “Please, Grandmother, do not punish me! I shall take out the rubbish at once!” She nodded. “Yes, you shall take out the rubbish – but only after I have dealt with you. First, you must be disciplined.”
With a gentle but firm grip, Grandmother took me by the wrist and guided me over her knee. The roughness of her apron brushed against my arms as I gazed at the floorboards, my toes barely touching the ground. I felt her left hand draw my trousers up, pulling the seat tight, and the anticipation made my heart flutter with dread. The woodshed was silent, save for the distant chirping of birds and the soft creak of the old timbers. Then, with measured firmness, Grandmother raised her hand and brought it down smartly. Even through the sturdy fabric and my undergarments, the sting was sharp and immediate, causing me to gasp. Each smack was delivered with care, not in anger, but with the steady resolve of one who wished to teach a lesson. After only three or four, my eyes filled with tears and I began to sob, feeling very much like a little girl who had disappointed someone she loved dearly. The sound of each smack echoed in the small shed, mingling with my sniffles and the gentle, reassuring words Grandmother murmured between each one. She did not hurry, nor did she prolong it unnecessarily, but made certain I understood the seriousness of my disobedience. In all, I received eighteen smacks – twice my age – and by the end, my pride was thoroughly humbled.
I wept bitterly, and Grandmother held me as I cried upon her shoulder. “I love you very much, Sarah,” she said softly, stroking my hair. “Let us hope you will behave better in future. Now, you must apologise to Grandmother and then take out the rubbish as a good girl should.”
I walked slowly back to the kitchen, rubbing the seat of my trousers as I did so. I was still crying and fell into my grandmother’s arms, telling her that I was sorry. She held me gently until I regained my composure, then asked kindly, “Are you going to take the rubbish out now, Sarah?” I nodded with a little gulp.
I took hold of the rubbish and began the long walk down to the end of the drive—my bottom still rather sore inside my trousers.
