(gap: 2s) Allow me to introduce the principal characters in this curious little episode, as one might encounter in a storybook from a more decorous age.
First, there is myself—a spirited and inquisitive boy of about ten years, with a shock of unruly brown hair and a pair of bright eyes forever searching for adventure. I am exceedingly fond of games, particularly those that can be played indoors when the weather is inclement, and I possess a remarkable talent for finding myself in the most unexpected predicaments—though I assure you, I never intend any real mischief.
My younger brother, Mark, is a cheerful little chap, a year or two my junior. He has a round, rosy countenance and a laugh that bubbles up like a spring in the hills. Mark is always eager to accompany me on any escapade, and though he sometimes grows anxious when matters go awry, he is a steadfast companion and a jolly good sport.
Then there is Peggy Parker, our babysitter for the evening. Peggy is a sensible and kindly girl of sixteen, with glossy brown hair neatly tied in a ponytail. She is a diligent student at the local high school, clever and responsible, and she possesses a gentle yet firm manner that inspires even the most unruly child to behave. Peggy is a member of the school cheerleading squad and is renowned for her radiant smile and quick wit. She is the sort of young lady who can be both a friend and an authority, and she always strives to do what is right.
Our mother, though absent for much of this tale, is a brisk and loving woman who keeps a spotless home and believes in good manners and proper discipline. Her smile is warm, but her eyes can be exceedingly stern when the situation demands it.
With these characters in mind, let us commence our story.
One of the most memorable chastisements of my childhood was administered by our young babysitter, Miss Peggy Parker, who saw fit to warm not only my own bottom but that of my younger brother, Mark, as well.
At the time of this incident, Peggy was a high school sophomore in the tenth grade. She was a comely brunette with hair of medium length.
Peggy was a member of the cheerleading squad and a ‘straight A’ student—yet, despite her exemplary schoolwork and generally well-behaved nature, she was not exempt from discipline herself when her parents deemed it necessary. I learned this from overhearing conversations between my mother and Mrs Parker. From these, I discovered that Peggy’s mother’s implement of choice—like my own mother’s—was the hairbrush.
I also gathered from these discussions that Mr Parker occasionally administered corporal punishment to his daughter—he used only his hand, but always upon Peggy’s bottom. Mrs Parker confided to my mother that Peggy’s punishments were usually for answering back, displaying a poor attitude, failing to ‘mind’, or the occasional curfew violation.
I should add that, in those days, parents often spoke quite openly about the spankings they gave their children, frequently not sparing the details. Parents took a certain pride in their strict discipline, and this attitude was widely approved by society at the time.
On the evening that Peggy disciplined us, my parents had gone out and my two sisters, Ruth and Sarah, were at a friend’s house for a sleepover. Peggy and we boys watched television for a while, and then, at half past seven, it was Mark’s bedtime. He protested a little but went to bed obediently.
My own bedtime was half an hour later. I made a few half-hearted and ultimately futile protests when the time arrived, but I too went to bed. As I settled into bed in the room I shared with Mark, Peggy reminded us both of the ‘no talking’ rule—a rule both my parents, especially my mother, enforced with great seriousness.
Once the lights were extinguished, there was to be absolutely no talking, and many a sore bottom had been earned for failing to observe that rule. For a first offence, we would receive half a dozen or so firm slaps on our bottoms with either Mother’s or Father’s hand. We would lie on our beds, and our bottom cheeks would be soundly warmed. It stung considerably and produced a lively reaction, but it was not unbearable.
If we were caught talking again, the matter became far more serious—then it was either a proper over-the-knee spanking with Mother’s hairbrush or a session with Father’s belt! We seldom required a second reminder, I assure you.
On this particular evening, I do not believe we boys took Peggy very seriously. While she remained in the living room, we were relatively safe, for the sound of the television masked our conversation. But whenever Peggy left the room to visit the bathroom or fetch a drink from the kitchen, our voices became quite audible.
Twice she caught us, each time issuing a stern warning. On the second occasion, she declared, “Boys, next time it will be a spanking!” Even then, I do not think we truly believed her.
However, on the third occasion, Peggy’s patience was exhausted, and we were briskly marched downstairs into the living room. A straight-backed chair—kept there largely for such occasions—was placed in the centre of the room, and Peggy seated herself upon it.
Now, let me describe the scene as it unfolded, for it is etched in my memory as vividly as if it occurred only yesterday. The living room, bathed in the soft golden glow of the lamp, seemed suddenly very large and rather solemn. Peggy, with her hair neatly tied back and her expression composed yet resolute, took her place upon the straight-backed chair. She looked every inch the responsible young lady, and I felt a curious mixture of apprehension and admiration for her.
She summoned me first. My heart thudded in my chest as I approached, and I could feel Mark’s wide eyes fixed upon me. Peggy gently but firmly guided me across her lap, arranging me so that I lay comfortably, my toes just brushing the carpet. I remember the faint scent of her soap and the reassuring warmth of her arm as she held me in place.
There was a brief pause, and then the spanking commenced. Peggy’s hand, though not as heavy as Mother’s, was certainly no feather. The first few smacks landed with a sharp, echoing sound, and I felt a quick sting that made me gasp. At first, I endeavoured to be brave, biting my lip and determined not to make a fuss. But as the spanking continued, the sting grew sharper, and I could not help but wriggle and let out a few involuntary “ows” and “ouches.”
Peggy was thorough and methodical, ensuring that each spank was well placed, but she was not unkind. She paused now and then to remind me gently, “This is for your own good, you know.” By the time she had finished, my bottom was decidedly warm and tingling, and my eyes were prickling with tears. I hopped up, rubbing the seat of my pyjamas, feeling both chastened and oddly relieved that the ordeal was over.
Peggy instructed me to stand in the corner, and I did so, sniffling a little but striving to compose myself. Then it was Mark’s turn. He looked so small and anxious as he approached, and Peggy’s manner softened as she guided him over her lap. She was gentler with him, delivering fewer and lighter smacks, but Mark, being younger and more sensitive, began to cry almost at once. His sobs filled the room, and when it was over, Peggy gathered him up in a comforting embrace, murmuring soothing words until he calmed down.
With both of us suitably chastened, Peggy stood us in the corner for ten minutes, during which she delivered a gentle but earnest lecture on the importance of good behaviour and respect. I remember feeling rather grown up, standing there with Mark, and thinking that perhaps Peggy herself must have felt quite mature and responsible, having carried out her duty so capably.
At last, Peggy led us back to our bedroom, tucked us in, and, after a few final words of encouragement, left us to our thoughts. We both pleaded with her not to tell our parents, and she promised she would keep our secret, provided we behaved ourselves for the remainder of the night.
In retrospect, Peggy was a good sport and one of the friendliest and kindest girls who ever sat for us. Often, if she had no homework to complete, she would play games with us and treat us to biscuits and milkshakes.
The following morning, we managed to conceal our tender bottoms from Mother as we dressed. However, by the next day, any remaining marks had all but vanished, and we managed to escape further punishment.
Peggy never spanked us again, though she would occasionally threaten to in a playful manner. We even received a few light-hearted swats on the seat of our pyjamas. Yet that one spanking I received from her will always remain for me a most singular and cherished memory.
