Sarah’s mother came out to tell us that Darla and her mother were coming by for tea, so that Darla would be joining us. I was upset, for although I did not know Darla well we were usually in competition when we were together.
Sarah said that Darla could play dolls with her when she came. I kept riding around and around, singing songs to myself – happy as a little bird. Then Darla came out.
Everything changed. Darla demanded that I get off the tricycle and give it to her. She was not going to play with Sarah’s dolls. I told her that I would get off very soon and that I would just ride around once more.
Darla didn’t buy that at all. As I rode off, she ran up behind me, stepped on to the riding platform on the back and tried to stop me. Instead of stopping the tricycle safely, she flipped me over backwards. The tricycle landed on top of me, and I was bleeding from my lip and nose.
I started to cry and Darla ran away. Sarah went in to get our mothers, who promptly ran out to us. My mother picked me up and, led by Sarah’s mother, took me into a bathroom where my face was carefully cleaned. Ice was applied to my forehead, where a bump was rising, and I was carried to a couch in the back parlour to lie down.
Sarah’s Nanny and a maid came to help my mother, as Sarah’s mother and Sarah watched. Her nanny was also a nurse. Meanwhile, Darla’s mother had located her outside and brought her into the back parlour to apologise to me. Her apology had every bit of ‘I better say this or I’ll be in deep water’ in it!
There were folding doors between the front and back parlours of this town-type house, and Darla’s mother took her into the front parlour, where the mothers had all been having tea prior to the crisis. I could see everything in there, for the work on me had all but ended, and I was just to rest with the ice.
Darla’s mother called for the maid and spoke quietly to her. I couldn’t hear what she said, but the maid nodded as Darla squatted down and cried out: “No, mama!” The maid turned and left.
Shortly after that, she returned and handed Darla’s mother a light leather paddle. I was really scared now. My heart was pounding and Darla was crying loudly. My mother and Sarah’s mother looked embarrassed but I think they knew that Darla’s mother wanted them to see that Darla was not going to get away with this.
The paddle itself was something I had never seen before. It was made of supple, tan leather, about a foot long and a few inches wide, with rounded edges and a smooth, almost glossy finish that caught the light from the window. The handle was slightly thicker, stitched carefully for a firm grip, and the paddle’s surface was soft to the touch but firm enough to hold its shape. There were a few faint creases in the leather, hinting at its use, and a subtle, almost sweet scent of well-cared-for leather lingered in the air. It looked both gentle and serious at the same time, a tool meant to deliver a lesson without causing real harm.
Darla’s mother sat on a straight-back chair that was near an old oak desk.
In a swift and decisive motion, she pulled Darla over her knees and told her not to move. Darla was already sobbing, her small hands clutching at her mother’s skirt, her face red and streaked with tears. Her mother held the light leather paddle, its tan surface contrasting with her dark skirt, the paddle’s edges curving gently as she gripped it with practiced familiarity. The room seemed to grow quieter, the only sounds Darla’s sniffling and the faint ticking of a clock on the mantel.
Sarah turned around and put her face in her mother’s dress, so her nanny took her out of the room. I didn’t want to look either but somehow, I just had to. Sarah’s mother left too, but my mother didn’t want to leave me. I was still under the care of the ice, so I couldn’t be moved yet. My heart thudded in my chest, a mix of fear, curiosity, and a strange sense of anticipation.
Darla’s mother talked softly to her. I couldn’t hear what she was saying but I imagine that it was a lecture or an explanation of why she was about to be punished. Darla’s shoulders shook as she listened, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. With that complete, her mother raised her hand and brought the leather paddle across Darla’s bottom with a sharp, echoing slap. The sound was startling—crisp and clean, cutting through the hush of the parlour. Darla jumped and cried out, her voice high and desperate, the pain and shock mingling in her wail.
Again and again, her mother flicked that light leather paddle over Darla’s bottom, covering most of it from what I could see. Each swat made a distinct, popping sound, the leather connecting with a firm but not brutal force. The paddle’s smooth, flexible leather seemed to mold slightly with each swat, making a crisp sound in the quiet room. Darla was jumping all over her mother’s lap but she had nowhere to go. Her legs kicked and her hands flailed, but her mother held her steady, delivering each stroke with measured precision. The air was filled with the rhythmic smack of leather on skin, Darla’s cries rising and falling with each impact. Her sobs grew louder, her voice breaking as the sting built up, her bottom turning a rosy pink beneath the paddle’s touch.
The spanking seemed to go on for a long time, though it was probably only a minute or two. The sensations in the room were intense: the sharp, stinging sound of the paddle, the heat and color rising on Darla’s skin, the raw emotion in her cries. When it finally ended, Darla did not move. She must have been used to the routine. Her mother unwrapped her fingers from the light leather paddle and placed it on the desk near her. Up close, I could see the paddle’s careful stitching and the way the leather shone in the afternoon light. She then began to hand-spank her lightly for a brief period of time, her palm making a softer, more muffled sound against Darla’s already tender skin. She was talking to her while she was doing this, her voice low and steady, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying. Darla was nodding in agreement and crying, her body limp and exhausted, her face pressed into her mother’s lap.
In just a few minutes, Darla was on her feet and put back together. Her mother took her hand and brought her to me. “All right, tell her!” Silence and crying. “Tell her!” Still crying.
A smack on the bottom brought Darla’s speech back to her. “I’m sorry, Gigi – I didn’t want to share.” I think Darla was truly shocked when she saw my face, and maybe that is why she didn’t reply right away. I told her it was OK.
Darla’s mother thanked Sarah’s mother for the tea and said that she was going to take Darla home now. She hoped that things were taken care of and that they could be invited another time. Sarah’s mother assured her that it was fine.
I carried a small scar from that day. It disappeared after that, somehow, but Darla and I continued to have our difficulties.
