My two brothers and I were quite regularly smacked as children, although I didn’t seem to get it half as much as they did. I think I was at heart quite a compliant little girl. However one day, at the age of seven, the devil must have entered into me and I decided to be deliberately defiant for once.
Mum had a bit of a thing about us not using public toilets when we were out and about – I think she thought them unsanitary and I suppose to be fair, you do get some horrors. So it was that whenever we went out, she was very particular to check that we had all used the toilet at home before we set off.
I found this rule a bit of a drag, to be honest. At the time I was still being bathed and dressed by mum and it was all just more hassle. Anyway, this particular day, we had just finished breakfast when Mum informed us that we needed to go out and get some school uniform items ready for when we went back a week or so later. “Make sure you all do wees and poos before we go,” she warned us.
Well, if truth be told, I probably did need to go at both ends, but in my defiance I thought I could hold it until we got back. So when we came downstairs and Mum asked whether I’d ‘been’, I just nodded my head.
Well, how wrong can you be? We lived in quite a remote, small village, and it was around half an hour’s journey by car into the nearest big town. We were about halfway there when I felt an ominous rumbling in my tummy. I needed to go – quickly! Of course, I should have asked Mum to pull over so I could just drop my knickers by the side of the road. But I thought it would be an automatic smacked bottom for having told her a lie.
I also badly needed a wee by this point, so I decided to try just letting go of a little bit of urine to relieve the pressure. I knew I would wet my pants but thought maybe the dark skirt I was wearing might help hide my guilty secret. I relaxed my bladder a little – but to my horror I found that not only could I not then stem the flow of urine, but I also began to steadily fill my pants.
Of course, with two brothers next to me in the back seat, the smell soon gave me away and they shouted forward to Mum about what I’d done. Mum was furious and after going a few more yards, she found a small lay-by to pull into on this quiet country road. The back door of the car opened. “Everyone out! Now!” Mum shouted.
Fortunately this was the 70s, when most family car seats were covered in vinyl. I was ordered to stand still with my hands on my head while Mum retrieved a box of tissues from the front and wiped down the worst of my mess. Then she turned her attention to her errant daughter. She put her hands up my skirt, yanked down my filthy knickers and did her best to clean me up.
This was easier said than done – I had poo all the way up the crack of my bottom and the tissues eventually ran out. Fortunately, Mum had an old beach towel in the boot of the car which she kept for emergencies, and this was put to use in finishing up wiping me front and back.
With three lively young children, Mum had got into the practice of always putting a slipper into her shopping bag in case one or more of our bottoms needed warming. This was now produced and I began to cry loudly as Mum grabbed me by the arm. She sat on the edge of the back seat and put me across her knee, lifting my skirt as she did so. With my naked bottom now sticking out of the rear of the car for all passing traffic to see, Mum began to apply the slipper rapidly and firmly, punctuating words with spanks all the while.
“You <spank> naughty <spank> dirty <spank> little <spank> girl <spank>!” And so on…
Despite it being a quiet-ish road, quite a few cars passed as I was disciplined – one even honked his horn, presumably in approval of what my poor little bum was receiving. Finally, Mum stood me back up – now a mess of tears – and yanked my skirt down to cover my now-humming seat.
As I continued to sob, she told me: “That was for dirtying yourself, but you’ve got more coming when we get home, for lying to me.” The shopping expedition had to be abandoned – Mum turned the car around and drove back towards our village, the stone cold silence only broken by my quiet sobbing.
Once we got home, Mum stripped me entirely in the kitchen and led me up to the bathroom. She drew quite a hot bath, plopped me in it and washed me down vigorously and roughly. Then I was told to sit still in the bath and Mum left me on my own for a few minutes.
When she returned, she had the ‘smack-bottom slipper’ in her hand again. I began to cry again at the sight of the hated discipline implement. “This is for your own good, Jennifer!” Mum said sternly. She put a towel across her knee. “Out of that bath! Now!”
I complied, hiccuping with sobs as I did so, and without drying me off at all Mum put me across her knee. The combination of my previous spanking and a bum that was both wet and softened up by stewing in the warm water ensured that this thrashing was much worse than my first time of the day. I thought it would never end and my howls reverberated around the tiled bathroom.
I was put to bed for the rest of the day, and from then you can be sure I was careful to use the toilet when told!