by Susan Thomas
The first time it happened I was fourteen. During the summer term of my Year 9 I was walking home from school thinking how much I hated everything. I hated my mother's obsession with making money and seducing men. She was, admittedly, very good at both but I thought it all vile and horrible. I hated the city where we lived: the constant noise and dust of new buildings, the endless pounding of loud music, the gangs of boys on street corners who made life a misery for us girls. I hated them all. The boys particularly loved to get at girls from my school. Partly it was the uniform which I also hated: dusky pink blazer, pink beret, white blouse and our awful pink and grey tie with the school badge between the stripes. Added to that humiliating outfit we had to wear grey socks with a pink top.
I was on the rise that led up to the rather exclusive area where I lived with my mother, when suddenly I wasn't... I wasn't walking up at all I was walking down a long, rough lane between fields. The lane led down into the middle of a valley in which was a small town (or large village, I wasn't sure which). The town was completely surrounded by countryside which flowed upward to hills with only the odd farmhouse or cottage here and there. I stopped dead in shock. I even turned around to see if I had somehow wandered into an unfamiliar part of the city, but behind me were hills.
It was all extremely beautiful I have to say and the town or village ahead was what a magazine would describe as picturesque. Now at this point I must confess that this was exactly the sort of place I daydreamed about. I wanted so much to live in a quaint place like this and not go to St Snotties (as we girls called it) but do something practical with my life. The mere thought of doing all that homework just to be able to take GCSE exams...
"Oh, but darling you must see how important they are!"
Er, no actually. You take them so you can then take A-Level so that you can get to university and then take more exams so you can get a degree so that you can get a career and live in the city. But I hate the bloody city was my unspoken cry. Yes, I know I wasn't honest but it's all against you at fourteen. The whole system simply grinds you down. So, I often retreated into a daydream about a small town just like this one ahead of me. Because it was so like my dream town I just walked on. As I got closer to the edge of the town a woman came out of a house and stopped dead when she saw me.
"Who are you, flower?"
"Zoe. Where am I?"
"Ah! You're one of them. Did you just find yourself here?"
"Yes, yes I did."
"Well relax, flower. You'll be alright, you'll see. Come on in. My Ralph is going into town now so he can give your details to the mayor's office."
I went in to the house which was spotlessly clean. A quarry tiled floor was scrubbed within an inch of its life. A strange looking cooker was at one end of the large room but I knew what it was: it was a cast iron range cooker. I'd seen pictures in history books. A large table stood in the centre covered in some sort of patterned cloth which looked shiny and waterproof. There was a dresser to one side with plates on it and a shelf with pots and pans. The whole room had a warm, friendly and cosy feel to it. I'd not daydreamed about such a room but it fitted in well.
A tall man wearing a shirt, waistcoat and corduroy trousers, looked at me curiously. "Who do we have here?"
"This is Zoe. She's one of them. You'd best take her details to the mayor's office."
He wrote my full name, date of birth and home address on a piece of paper and said, "Don't worry Zoe, everything will be fine," and left. I saw him a little while later go past the front of the house driving a buggy pulled by one horse. I guessed there must be a stable out the back.
His wife, whose name turned out to be Elizabeth, handed me a large mug of very sweet tea which had milk in it. My mother didn't use milk whether she made green or black tea. She also gave me a huge slab of Victoria sandwich cake which was delicious.
"So, flower, is that a uniform of some sort?"
"Yes, my school uniform."
"Ah, school. I see. And how do you get on at school?"
"I hate it. They say I can have a wonderful academic career but I couldn't care less about all that. I don't want to do it."
She smiled. "That explains it," she said enigmatically.
She asked me lots of questions about school and what we studied but gave me no information about where we were or anything about the place. She did, however, keep glancing at a large clock on the wall. To my eyes it looked very old fashioned but it fitted in well here and was clearly quite new.
"You keep looking at the clock. Is something wrong?"
"My Rebecca should be home by now. She goes to school too. She's thirteen so she leaves at the end of term..." My ears pricked up at that! "She's got some daft notion about being in love with a boy. If she's gone off somewhere with him there'll be trouble."
I stared at her. My mum didn't get home until around seven every evening so I was always on my own after school unless I went to a friend's house. As to boyfriends, my mum would love it if I showed any interest in a boy. I thought the boys I met ranged from utterly revolting at worst to downright stupid at best. Rebecca needed my mum and I could do with Elizabeth. A nice, plump, warm-hearted mum who took an interest in her daughter.
At that moment the door crashed open and a girl came hurtling in. She was as tall as me and quite well developed, so although she was only thirteen she could easily pass for older. No stupid school uniform for her. She was wearing a long skirt in a plain material, a pretty blouse with a small waistcoat over it. I understood the look on her face. It was the 'I'm in trouble' look.
"And where have you been, Miss Rebecca?"
"Oh, you know, just dallying after school. I'm sorry Mum, it won't happen..."
"Have you been with Billy?"
"Billy?"
"Don't play that game with me missy. You've been with Billy Watkins, haven't you?"
She denied it of course but you could tell she didn't expect to be believed. I wondered if she was going to get shouted at or sent to her bedroom. That was what my mum did. If she was really upset she'd throw something at me. Any old thing would do. I've even had a glass of milk thrown at me... made such a mess of my clothes. However, I was surprised at what happened next.
"Right, young lady. That's it. I warned you. Into the corner with you."
"No Mum... please... I..."
"One, two..."
Elizabeth got no further than "two" when Rebecca scuttled at speed into the corner and put her hands on her head. I could scarcely believe it. She actually stood dead still facing into the corner with her hands on her head and not saying a word. She wasn't even fidgeting. Impressive! Well come on, better than having milk thrown over you. Elizabeth marched off somewhere and I wondered if Rebecca would now speak to me but she never moved let alone said anything.
Then Elizabeth came back carrying a wooden hairbrush in her hand. I got a sudden suspicion about what was going to happen next. I'd never been spanked in my life and didn't know anyone that had, but you do hear stories. Grandparents tell you about spankings and I'd read stuff in old books like Great Expectations and Jane Eyre.
Sure enough, Elizabeth pulled out a chair and snapped out, "Miss Rebecca come to me."
Rebecca obeyed but she looked very nervous. "Please Mum. It won't happen..."
"Get them down Rebecca, and quickly mind."
That instruction puzzled me, but not for long. Rebecca lifted her skirt and now whimpering pulled a very old-fashioned looking pair of knickers down to around her knees. My heart was hammering. This girl was about to be spanked and on her bare bottom! I could scarcely believe it. I mean, that's illegal isn't it? But that took me back to thinking about just where I was.
Elizabeth held out an arm and whimpering some more Rebecca let her mum help her over her knee. I watched in a sort of horrified fascination as Elizabeth lifted her daughter's skirt and pulled it right up over her back, and there it was, one very bare rather pale bottom looking incredibly vulnerable. Rebecca's knickers were a sort of green colour and were bunched around her knees.
Rebecca had one last attempt. "Please Mum, I'm sorry. We were just chatting..."
But her mum wasted no time on words. She began spanking immediately and very fast: smack, smack, and smack went the hairbrush in crisp, fast hard smacks on her right cheek. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Every time that brush cracked down on Rebecca's bottom it compressed for a split second and then sprang back sending ripples outwards. Every single smack seemed to leave a whopping great red mark behind on her pale skin and Rebecca began shrieking and wailing immediately. She didn't hold back at all. It was smack, shriek, smack, wail... like that. Poor Rebecca, she twisted and wriggled trying to get away from that punishing brush but Elizabeth was really good at keeping her bottom right where she wanted for spanking it.
Having punished the right cheek Elizabeth turned to the left. That poor girl, right in front of my eyes the lovely pale skin of her bottom was being turned into a hot and angry red. Every smack compressed her bottom, caused the poor girl to shriek or wail and then add to the rapidly spreading stain of red across her skin. When both cheeks of her bottom had been turned fiery red Elizabeth paused. Then she began a much slower spanking. Now each smack was harder but randomly placed. Smack to the right, smack to the left, smack to the left again and so on. Spanking her hard like that on an already spanked bottom must have really hurt and each time the brush landed she gave another piercing wail.
By the time she'd landed about a dozen smacks like that Rebecca's bottom was not only angry red but was now looking very dark in the centre of each cheek with some purple, bluish blotches which I guessed were bruises. Abruptly she stopped spanking.
"There, I think I've made it clear how I view your disgraceful behaviour. You can get up now."
Then Elizabeth turned into a mummy again. Or perhaps spanking is what mothers did here, wherever I was. Anyway, now she dried her daughter's tears and was lovely to her with lots of kisses and a little cuddle. But Rebecca's punishment wasn't over. Soon she was back in the corner with her skirt turned up and tucked into the waistband, her knickers around her ankles and her hands on her head. I wished I could stop staring at the angry spanked bottom but I simply couldn't.
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