I grew up in the north of England and attended Sunday School until the age of 11. There was a group of around six of us. We met in the church vestry during the main service and were supervised by Miss Mason, a lady of about 50, who wore glasses and had dark, shoulder-length hair.
I had a habit of interrupting and making smart remarks during class, and one Sunday Miss Mason had clearly become tired of my behaviour.
The lesson had ended and I prepared to leave along with the others, but Miss Mason took hold of my arm, saying: “I want a word with you, young man.”
I was lectured for my behaviour and lack of respect, then Miss Mason said: “I don’t know whether you are aware, but I have nephews who are older than you, who know what they will get if they behave as you have done. I am going to spank you, Paul.”
A feeling of horror came across me. I pleaded that my misbehaviour wouldn’t happen again. However, Miss Mason was adamant and merely replied that she was sure it wouldn’t, and if it did, this exercise would be repeated.
She sat down in an upright chair and ordered me to come and stand before her, which I did. Her eyes didn’t leave me as she rolled up one sleeve of her cardigan, which she wore over a sleeveless dress. She reached for my trouser waistband, releasing the clasp, and despite my protests she lowered my trousers and pants to knee level.
At that moment the congregation in the church broke into the hymn All Things Bright and Beautiful. Miss Mason said: “Over you go, young man – we have a few minutes before the hymn ends.” I obediently bent over her lap, as I was used to getting from my own mother, and my teacher lifted my shirt and jumper well clear of my bottom, placing her left hand on my back.
Well, I can’t say how beautiful my bottom was at that age, but by the time Miss Mason had finished, it was definitely bright – bright red. Within a couple of seconds of her arranging my clothes, her firm hand landed on my bare behind. Miss Mason was clearly an experienced spanker – it really hurt as she thoroughly smacked all over my bottom and the top of my thighs. The punishment must have lasted about two minutes or so, and I was a sore and tearful young man by the end of it.
Finally, I was allowed to pull my trousers and pants back up and go home. I stopped attending Sunday School a few weeks later.