I’m a mature male aged 70. Back in the 1950s growing up, spanking was a normal everyday punishment. Almost every kid in our road got spanked when they were naughty. Some were over-the-knee, some touch your toes, some bent over chairs or sofas.

We witnessed many spankings. In fact, if one was due we gathered outside the house to listen. Often remarks were made about it being hand, belt, slipper, or cane, and whether it was bare bottom or not. We often offered sympathy to the victim after as they sobbed holding their bottom looking out of their bedroom window.

One spanking sticks in my mind as the girl and I became boyfriend and girlfriend years later.

I was born in East London in 1951. Due to the bombings in the war, we were moved out to new towns in and around Essex. We moved to Harold Hill in Romford. I lived with my two brothers and a younger sister. We were all spanked on our bare bottoms if we mis-behaved. I can’t actually remember my little sister getting a hiding, but my brothers and I got lots.

This particular time, I was out playing with a girl called Sally, of similar age. We were playing hopscotch and would have been around ten-years-old. Sally’s younger sister was there making a nuisance of herself. She kept kicking our stones away. Sally chased her a few times, but her sister got away only to creep back and laugh. Sally was getting very annoyed.

I saw Sally watching her sister out of the corner of her eye. She was making out she wasn’t looking, but she was. As her sister moved in to kick my stone, Sally pounced. Her sister did manage to escape, but not for long. Sally tried to grab her but failed and gave her a push in the back. Her sister stumbled, then went head first onto the pavement, grazing both knees. She burst out crying, said she would be telling on her big sister, and ran into their house. Sally shouted back something like it was her own fault, but I knew she was sorry for what happened.

Not as sorry as she was soon going to be, though.

All of a sudden there was a shout as Sally’s father came running out towards Sally. He was rolling up his shirt sleeves and shouting, “What have I told you?”

Sally stammered and tried to tell her father what had happened. It was no good. Sally’s father wasn’t listening. He scooped her up like a rag doll.

Sally shouted, “No daddy, no!”

He lifted Sally’s dress, pulled down her white panties, then pulled her across his leg.

He shouted something like, “I’ll teach you, my girl, to keep your hands to yourself.”

By this time he had slapped Sally’s bare bottom six or seven times, more or less in time with the words. Sally was screaming and wriggling, but there was no escape.

I just stood there, eyes wide open, looking at the sweetest little bare white bottom getting redder by the second. It seemed to be never-ending.

More words came out, like, “How do you like that, my girl?”

That was probably another seven or eight slaps. The sound echoed around the street. I was just frozen to the spot, gawking. Suddenly, he just stopped, dropped Sally to the ground, and walked off still chattering to himself.

Sally flipped onto her back arched her body, lifting her bottom off the floor and grabbing it with both hands. She started frantically rubbing it as if that would make it better. She made absolutely no attempt to cover herself. I was still wide-eyed staring.

I just watched until Sally calmed down a bit and got to her feet, still bawling her eyes out. I said, “Shush, shush,” or something and put my arms around her.

She grabbed me with both arms and hugged me, mumbling, “It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t my fault.”

It wasn’t. It was her little sister who should have been spanked, not Sally.

In our road, next to each end house, were some bushes planted by the council to look nice. We often played in them, and made camps and dens. I can’t remember who made the first move, but still holding each other we walked into the bushes out of site, to hide Sally’s embarrassment.

Sally was still crying, cuddling me, and sobbing on my shoulder. I just started to rub her bottom better. I remember it clearly. It was so smooth and warm, and bright red. After Sally calmed down a bit, she let me go and gathered up her knickers and started to pull them up.

I’ve lost touch with Sally now, but still think back to that time.

DN