Growing up in 1973, my family was all about those camping trips. One trip stands out vividly. As a kid, I was obsessed with Beano characters, especially Dennis the Menace. I even dressed like him, with my black, spikey hair, red and black jersey, black shorts, and somewhat questionable black sandals.

I always got a kick out of having an aunt or neighbour lady catch a glimpse of me – or at least my bottom.

Whenever we had company, if the moment was right, I’d somehow manage to show myself. My mother often scolded me about being more discreet, but apart from the scolding, I was never really punished.

We were camping in Swanage, Dorset. There were two swimming areas: one by the campground and another by the picnic area. After dinner, I was playing on the swings at the picnic area when I realized I needed the bathroom. It was late, and no one was around. I went in and did my business.

As I walked out, a car pulled up. Out stepped a lady and her daughter, both looking quite upper-class. I’d seen them around the campsite before, acting as if the place was beneath them. The daughter was a dead ringer for “Violet Elizabeth Bott” from the 1970s “Just William” TV show, and the mother looked just like Mrs. Bott.

Mrs. Bott was a large woman with a commanding presence. She wore a floral dress that accentuated her size, a wide-brimmed hat, sensible shoes, and a string of pearls.

The daughter was a petite girl with curly blonde hair tied in ribbons, wearing a frilly dress and patent leather shoes. She carried herself with an exaggerated sense of importance, just like her mother.

I thought it would be hilarious to moon them. So, I went back into the bathroom and did just that. As they approached, I came out and yelled, ‘Have some of this!’, a phrase I’d heard other neighborhood boys shout at older girls.

True to form, the “Violet Elizabeth Bott” lookalike screamed, while her mother looked at me with utter disgust and disdain, as if I was something that had just crawled out of the gutter.

I ran back into the bathroom, planning to wait until they left. A few minutes later, I heard the lady say, “Hello? Is there anyone in the men’s restroom?”

Panic set in. She called out again, “Little boy, I know you’re in there – come out right now!” I froze, unsure of what to do. She repeated herself, this time threatening to send her daughter for a park ranger if I didn’t come out.

Not wanting that, I slowly walked out with my head down. The lady and her daughter were standing by the door. As soon as I walked out, she grabbed my arm and asked if I thought I was funny and why I did it. I told her I didn’t know.

She said, “Maybe we can go to the park ranger and find your parents?” I started to cry and begged her not to. She then gave me a choice: let her punish me or go find my parents. Her daughter stood there grinning the whole time.

The lady quickly turned me away and smacked my bottom hard with her bare hand about 10 times. Each smack landed with a loud, resounding clap that echoed in the quiet evening air. The intensity of each strike sent a sharp sting through my body, causing my eyes to well up with tears. I bit my lip, trying to hold back any sound, but the pain was undeniable. My bottom felt like it was on fire, and each subsequent smack seemed to amplify the burning sensation.

Although the Mrs. Bott lookalike really laid it on, I had had worse at school. Not wanting to draw more attention, I didn’t yell. The sound of each smack was like a drumbeat, steady and relentless, and I could feel the heat radiating from my punished bottom.

Honestly, I was more shocked that she took it upon herself to chastise me like that. But this was the 1970s, and these things happened.

When she finished, she told me I was lucky I wasn’t her son, or the spanking would have been far more severe.

I agreed with Mrs. Bott on that. I was very lucky not to have her as a mother. In fact, I would have preferred being an orphan than having her as a mother and Violet as a sister.

They turned and walked away, thankfully never to be seen again, leaving me to scramble.

Walking back, I thought to myself, “Some people have no sense of humour.”

That was the first and last time I pulled that stunt.