So it was that a few minutes later, I strode up happily to my mother with a bunch of freshly-picked flowers of all colors and held them out for her to take.
Imagine my horror when instead of being delighted, Mum’s face suddenly turned to thunder and she began shouting at me, calling me a ‘naughty little girl’.
I was upset and confused, but not half as upset as I was a few moments later when Mum put across her knee and given a soundly smacked bottom.
I mainly remember two things.
First, the roughness of Mum’s serge skirt against my tummy and my ‘front bottom’ (as we girls were taught to call it).
Second, of course, I remember the stinging of my mother’s hand.