Up until the age of about 12, my mother would spank me over her knee with a slipper; hard enough to really make me howl.
However, after that age my parents felt I was too old for an over-the-knee slippering, so they would on very rare occasions cane me. I’d have to bend over the kitchen table, with my trousers down, for up to eight strokes of the cane. I know that might not sound much but even two or three strokes would make me yell and I’d be sore for several days.
The cane was about 3ft long and very whippy, and would leave marks right across my bottom.
The last time I was caned was at the age of 18. I’d just passed my driving test when a neighbour ‘kindly’ mentioned to my parents that they’d seen me going too fast in the family car. For that, I got the full eight strokes and not only did I yell, I was in tears by the end of it.
However, my worst experience was about a year earlier. I’d been rude to my mother and to be honest deserved a caning – but worse was to come.
The next day my girlfriend came to tea, and being beaten was not something I’d told her about – it was my secret and was going to stay that way.
I’d been out of the room or a moment, leaving her with just my younger brother, who to make conversation regaled her with the full story; not leaving out a stroke or a howl, nor my subsequent very audible tears.
Lindy was, of course, delighted and pumped him for every last detail, which later she in turn related to all our friends. Most embarrassing!