I used to press my face into the bedspread, trying to keep from crying and calling out whilst the slippering was administered.
I can well remember how each successive whack would sting more and more, whilst the burning of my bottom grew to an almost unbearable level.
Afterwards, she would leave me, lying on the bed and usually having a bit of a cry.
Once, when Mother had given it me midweek, I can remember how uncomfortable it was sitting on hard classroom chairs the day afterwards. This constant reminder of the recent tanning of my bottom was all part of the punishment – my mother always said that she hadn’t done it hard enough if I wasn’t still sore the next day.