There was a long pause between each stroke.
Mother using the opportunity to deliver a short lecture, which I was in no condition to take in.
I was made to take all six strokes, each as venomous as the first.
By the end of the caning, I was so fearful that I could hardly see.
“Right – stand up, girl,” came the instruction.
This at least signalled that my ordeal was over, or so I thought.
“The next time either of you misbehaves, it’ll be twelve strokes – Do you understand?”
Mother announced, addressing both my brother and myself, before returning her cane to the kitchen.
Although that was the end of the caning, it was far from the end of my ordeal.
For the remainder of the afternoon, I was made to stand in a corner facing the wall with my hands on my head waiting for Father to arrive home from work.
The clear implication was that I could well find myself on the receiving end of another ‘spanking’ (as Mother delightfully put it) if Father decided that it was necessary.
With my backside still smarting from the cane, I was naturally terrified of this possibility and it was a very long and anxious wait.
Upon arriving home, Father was given a graphic description of my alleged disobedience and what steps had been taken already.
During the course of their discussion, I had to remain in the corner, quaking in my shoes.
Thankfully, it was decided that I had already been dealt with adequately.
Although I was to be ‘grounded’ for the duration of the forthcoming half-term holiday.