(gap: 2s) There is, I think, a certain thrill in the prospect of being disciplined by someone who is not one’s own parent. It is a sensation familiar to any child who has ever found themselves at the mercy of a babysitter, that most curious of all grown-ups—neither friend nor foe, but a sort of temporary governor, armed with the authority of one’s parents and the mysterious customs of their own upbringing.
(short pause) It was the summer of 1962, and my parents, Mr. and Mrs. Forsyth, had determined to take a well-earned weekend in the country, leaving me—Charles—and my two younger sisters, Susan and Jane, in the care of a new sitter. Margaret, my elder sister, was away at camp, and so the task of keeping us in order fell to Miss Barbara, a college sophomore with a gentle drawl and a reputation for being “good with children.”
(short pause) I was, of course, convinced that I was far too old for a sitter, and I made my feelings known in the most dignified manner possible—by sulking in the hallway and refusing to look up from my copy of The Eagle. My sisters, on the other hand, were delighted at the prospect of a new playmate, and greeted Miss Barbara with the sort of enthusiasm usually reserved for the ice-cream man.
(short pause) Miss Barbara was tall and fair, with a kindly face and a manner that was at once brisk and gentle. She wore a light jumper and a plain skirt, and carried a small pink suitcase that looked as though it had seen many summers. To my young eyes, she seemed impossibly grown-up, and yet not quite an adult—a curious mixture of authority and youth.
(short pause) The afternoon passed in a whirl of games and laughter. We played cricket on the lawn, built dens in the shrubbery, and staged a tea party for Jane’s dolls. Miss Barbara joined in with gusto, never once complaining about muddy knees or grass stains. For a moment, I almost forgot to resent her presence.
(short pause) But all idylls must end, and ours was shattered by a single, fateful act. Susan, perhaps jealous of the attention Miss Barbara was paying me, scooped up a handful of wet mud and hurled it with unerring aim at our unsuspecting sitter. The mud splattered across Miss Barbara’s skirt and jumper, leaving her quite speechless.
(short pause) For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Miss Barbara’s pleasant smile vanished, replaced by a look of stern resolve that would have done credit to any headmistress. She fixed Susan with a gaze that brooked no nonsense, and in that instant, we all knew that the fun was over.
(short pause) “Charles, Jane, inside at once, if you please,” she said, her voice calm but firm. We obeyed without a word, shuffling into the drawing room while Susan trailed behind, her face a picture of defiance and regret.
(short pause) Miss Barbara disappeared upstairs to tidy herself, and we sat in silence, the air thick with anticipation. I could hear the faint murmur of her voice on the telephone—no doubt reporting our misdeeds to Mother and Father. When she returned, she had changed into a flannel blouse and patterned leggings, and in her hand she carried the Jokari paddle—a fearsome implement if ever there was one.
(short pause) The room seemed smaller, somehow, as Miss Barbara addressed us. “Jane, Charles, sit on the sofa, please.” We did as we were told, scarcely daring to breathe. Turning to Susan, she spoke with the solemnity of a judge pronouncing sentence.
(short pause) “Susan, your parents have asked me to see to it that you are properly punished for your behaviour. Where I come from, we use a paddle for such things, and I see no reason to make an exception.”
(short pause) Susan, usually so bold, looked suddenly very small. Her dress was smeared with mud, her hair in wild disarray. Miss Barbara regarded her with a mixture of exasperation and pity. “You are absolutely filthy, young lady! After this, you shall have a bath.”
(short pause) With a gentle but unyielding grip, Miss Barbara took Susan by the wrist and led her to the armchair. She bent her over the arm, so that Susan’s small frame was draped across the chair, her face buried in her hands.
(short pause) There was a hush in the room, broken only by the ticking of the mantel clock. Miss Barbara raised the paddle, her face set in a mask of determination. Then, with a swift, practiced motion, she brought it down upon Susan’s bottom.
(short pause) The sound was sharp and unmistakable—a crack that seemed to echo through the house. Susan let out a yelp, more of surprise than pain, but Miss Barbara was not to be deterred. She delivered another smack, and another, each one measured and firm, but never cruel.
(short pause) Susan’s bravado crumbled, and soon she was sobbing in earnest, her pleas for mercy growing more desperate with each stroke. “Please, Miss Barbara! I’m sorry! I’ll never do it again!” But Miss Barbara, though not unkind, was resolute. She finished the paddling with a final, decisive smack, then set the paddle aside and gathered Susan into her arms.
(short pause) For a moment, Susan clung to her, her tears soaking Miss Barbara’s blouse. Then, with a sniff and a hiccup, she scampered off to the bathroom, rubbing her sore bottom and muttering darkly about the unfairness of it all.
(short pause) Jane, who had watched the proceedings with wide-eyed fascination, tried to stifle a giggle, but a stern look from Miss Barbara silenced her at once.
(short pause) As for me, I found myself torn between admiration for Miss Barbara’s authority and a strange, rebellious urge to test it. When she asked me to set the table for dinner, I saw my chance.
(short pause) “No,” I said, as firmly as I could manage. Miss Barbara raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Now, Charles, don’t be silly. Set four places, please.” I shook my head, my heart pounding. “No, I won’t!”
(short pause) The words were out before I could stop them, and I felt a curious mixture of fear and exhilaration. Miss Barbara’s expression hardened. “Charles, this is not like you. What has come over you?”
(short pause) I stamped my foot, determined to see my rebellion through. “No, no, no!” I shouted, my voice trembling with the effort.
(short pause) For a moment, I thought she might laugh, but instead she picked up the paddle once more. “Very well, Charles. If you insist on behaving like your sister, I shall have to treat you the same.”
(short pause) My bravado vanished in an instant, replaced by a cold dread. Miss Barbara took me by the wrist and made me bend over, just as she had done with Susan. I felt the paddle rest against my bottom, and then—crack!—the first smack landed.
(short pause) The pain was sharp and immediate, and I bit my lip to keep from crying out. But Miss Barbara was relentless, delivering a series of firm, well-aimed smacks that left me in no doubt as to her seriousness.
(short pause) I tried to hold out, but after the third or fourth stroke, the tears came, hot and unbidden. I promised anything—obedience, good behaviour, even to set the table for a month—if only she would stop. At last, she did, and I found myself enveloped in a comforting hug, my pride in tatters but my heart strangely light.
(short pause) I set the table without further protest, and dinner passed in a spirit of uneasy camaraderie. Miss Barbara was cheerful and attentive, making sure to include Susan and me in the conversation, and even allowing Jane to recount the day’s adventures in minute detail.
(short pause) After dinner, Miss Barbara washed the dishes, then tucked my sisters into bed, reading them a story and allowing Susan to curl up in her lap—a gesture that seemed to erase all memory of the afternoon’s unpleasantness.
(short pause) When it was my turn for bed, Miss Barbara walked me to my room. I must have looked rather forlorn, for she asked, half-teasing, if I needed to be tucked in like my sisters. I did not answer, but she seemed to understand, and sat at the head of my bed, easing my head into her lap.
(short pause) There was a warmth and comfort in that moment that I have never forgotten. Miss Barbara stroked my hair and spoke softly, telling me how much she had enjoyed our games, and how sorry she was to have had to punish me. She confessed that she, too, had been a difficult child, and that her own parents had been strict, but fair.
(short pause) At last, she laid my head on the pillow, turned out the light, and left me to my thoughts. I drifted off to sleep, my bottom still smarting, but my heart full of a curious affection for the young woman who had, in her own way, taught me a lesson I would never forget.
(short pause) In the years that followed, Miss Barbara sat for us a few more times, and though I never again tested her authority, I always looked forward to her visits.
(short pause) Many years later, when I was a young man and Miss Barbara was in graduate school, we met again by chance in the city. We shared coffee, then walks, then dinners, and though the days of paddles and punishments were long past, I found that the old affection remained.
(short pause) And so, whenever I think back to that summer, I remember not the sting of the paddle, but the kindness and understanding of a young woman who, for one brief season, was both my tormentor and my friend.
