My dad died when I was just four, and my little brother Philip two years younger still. Just before this happened, my maternal grandfather had also passed suddenly, so it was perhaps only natural that his widow, May, moved in with us – it was both company for her and a help with childcare for our mum.
We were quite a harmonious little family, and Philip and I were mostly well-behaved little boys. However, neither of us were a stranger to a smack from Mum – this would generally just be a sharp slap on our clothed bottoms, and shocked more than it really hurt. Occasionally, if we were in shorts, Mum might land the blow on the back of our legs instead of our bums, which would hurt quite a bit more. But all in all, corporal punishment-wise, it was all pretty mild.