But I wonder who else, likes me, also remembers having their bottoms smacked on the return journey home?

My personal memory begins with me going to a popular northern resort with mum’s sister and her two children. I remember whining for much of the day of our return because I was either cold, very hungry or needed to go to toilet.

My aunt was already irritated by her own girls consistently squabbling on the train journey back, but she finally snapped when I spilled lemonade down my cheap, pattern-printed polyester dress. Safe in the privacy of the compartment, my aunt promptly took off my dress to attempt to dry it out before we reached our destination.

Having done that, she pulled down my knickers to my scuffed white sandals and then thoroughly smacked my Bottom, with her own little girls watching.

I have an older sister, and she occasionally ended up babysitting me when I was little. When she did, she was allowed to smack my bottom if I was a naughty girl.

I have to say that my sister rarely took advantage of this privilege and even when she did, I never usually cried. However, one exception was the day when she accused me of playing with matches while we were at our grandmother’s house. I was guilty as charged, although I tried to deny it.

My sister decided that as I had both played with the matches and told a fib about doing so, a smacked bottom was in order. She ordered me across her knee. I remember the characteristic sound of elastic snapping against my bare legs as I pulled up my white knee socks and timidly laid myself face down in the classic punishment position.
With rising terror, I watched as my sister reached behind the settee cushion and pulled out her own school plimsoll.

Then I was thoroughly smacked, wriggling on my sister’s lap as she slippered me efficiently. It really hurt and for once there were genuine tears.

Afterwards, I was left with a runny nose and a red, sore bum, which I rubbed vigorously to try to get rid of the slipper’s sting.