“Clearly, I need to demonstrate what happens to disobedient, wilful little girls like you,”

Mother said, virtually spitting the words out in terms which I can still recall to this day.

After this admonishment, she went out to the kitchen

Mother returned a few moments later with her long, slender cane.

This was an instrument which she had often threatened to use but had thus far avoided doing so.

I remember feeling absolutely terrified at the sight of her, flexing the stick menacingly.

“Bend over!” came the inevitable instruction.

Immediately I complied with this command.

Fearing that any hesitation would only serve to make things even worse.

By this time I was already in tears.

This was only at the terrifying prospect of being caned.

It was of having to endure it across the bottom with both my brother and Mother’s friend looking on.

“Six of the best,” came the pronouncement of my sentence.

“And don’t you dare get up before you’re told to, otherwise we’ll start all over again.”

I gritted my teeth and steeled myself for the first stroke.

When it came, it felt as though I had been struck with a red hot poker.

This was accompanied by a noise that sounded as though someone had shot a gun in the room.

I can remember screaming out at the top of my voice.

Only just managing to avoid the natural reaction of standing up to protect myself.