Twice more my mother caught me in the act. Twice more she sat me down and closely examined my leg and foot. It must have been extremely frustrating for her. I wasn’t hurt but yet offered no explanation as to why I was doing what I was doing. Maybe I couldn’t have fully articulated my motives at that age, anyway.

We set off again, and soon afterwards we passed two matronly women who were holding ice creams and generally taking in the world. One of them said to the other in a loud voice: “Look at that poor little cripple boy there.”

My mother heard that all right, and she became incensed by the remark. We happened to be passing a public toilet at the time, and without hesitation or another word, mother marched me by the hand into the ladies and drew me into an empty cubicle, locking the door behind her.

“I’ve had enough of your nonsense today!” she hissedI stood there she swiftly administered around half a dozen sharp smacks to my bottom. I yelled at the first and was howling by the second. It had been some time since I had been smacked on my naked buttocks and I had forgotten how much that particular punishment hurt.