by DJ Black
When I met my husband in 1949, he was in the army. I first saw him checking the train times at Grand Central Station. I was 21 and he looked like a man of the world straight off the cover of Life magazine. I sidled up to him and pretended to be also checking my train when he spoke.
"Excuse me Ma'am, you don't happen to know where I can get a train to Vicksburg, Louisiana?" he asked me in a wonderful Southern accent.
I blushed not knowing what to say, my sophisticated New York City girl persona deserting me.
"Hey that's kind of cute. I thought all you Yankees had a smart mouth."
I don't remember my reply, but I certainly forgot my shyness and gave him a mouthful. He just laughed and said that was the New Yorkers he knew and loved. Ten minutes later, we were drinking coffee and ten days later, we were engaged.
His name was George Baines. He was a sergeant in the heavy infantry, whatever that was. He called me Lizzie right from the get go. Although I had always been Elizabeth and hated the diminutive Lizzie, coming from him I didn't mind.
Under normal circumstances, I would have gone to meet his folks and we would have had a long engagement. But things did not work out like that. Being in the army, he was always being called away, so in the eight months between meeting him and marrying him we were together less than 30 days, then the Korean War broke out.
I had originally come to New York from Boston to study business and secretarial studies; I guess I never got around to going back. It was not that I particularly took to big cities, but I had no close family of my own, so there was nothing to go back for. My mother had divorced my father when I was eight and I had stayed with dad and I had all but lost touch with her. I had gone to live with a great aunt when the Second World War began as my father had been called up. Even then, my mother showed no interest. So when he did not come back from somewhere called Sainte-Mère-Église in France I was pretty much on my own.
We had originally planned to spend a long holiday with his folks in Louisiana during the summer of 1950 but the threat of war that June had thrown our plans into disarray.
Having lost my father in the last war, I was devastated by the prospect of another. When George failed to turn up for his leave I telephoned every number I had for him and his friends. After one hysterical tantrum on the phone to, as it turned out, the wrong section at his base, I finally received a call from him.
He was not amused. He said if I was going to be a good Army wife then I had to get used to him going away and not calling for days, or even weeks. I complained bitterly that I was not an Army wife and if this was what it was going to be like then I wasn't sure if I wanted to be.
I don't know how he swung it, but three days later, he turned up at my apartment at five in the morning with a seven-day furlough. I instantly forgot all my doubts and rather shamelessly threw myself into his arms still in my nightclothes.
After making him breakfast and coffee, I called work from the phone down the hall to say that I would not be in that day, and then just sat there mooning over my man at the other end of the dining room table.
"Shouldn't you get dressed?" he said rather disapprovingly.
I was mortified; I had even been to the telephone. I let out a wild shriek and ran to my room.
Sometime later, still embarrassed, I returned to clear away the breakfast things.
"You and I need to talk," he said. There was an edge to his voice.
"I am sorry. I just got carried away seeing you like that. Unexpectedly I mean."
"I don't mean that," he snorted. "Although I must say I was surprised that you would go down the hall half-dressed like that. If my mother could see you."
I just blushed again. What must he think?
"I can't have you calling the post. You made me look like an idiot. Do you know how I managed to swing a week's pass?" he asked. There was something about his tone that reminded her of her father before the war.
"I was worried," I said lamely.
"My captain found out and I was forced into a hole. I either had to admit you were a flake and I should drop you or go along with his idea that there was trouble at home. That kind of thing can hold up a guy's promotion." Somewhere while talking, he had become angry.
"I don't know what the hell the fuss is all about." I became defensive.
"What did you say?" he was really mad by now.
"What?" I was confused.
"I don't ever want to hear language like that coming out of my wife's mouth," he snapped.
"Well I am not your damn wife yet and I'll use any damn language I please," I yelled.
I think as long as I live I will never forget the look on his face. It was somewhere between pain and shocked surprise, like he had been stung by a bee or shot, even. Which was kind of ironic since a heartbeat later I must have had the same look on my face.
He reached across the room with his great bear-like arms and seemingly without getting up hauled me halfway across the room and over his knee.
"What are you doing?" I gasped.
"I. Will. Not. Tolerate. Such. Language. From. My. Future. Wife," he said, swatting me hard on my tail with each word.
Even through my thick skirt, it stung and after a few more firm swats, I began to yelp.
"You bastard," I screamed. Big mistake.
He flipped up my skirt and began to spank me energetically. My thin slip and panties now offered no protection to my behind. I bit my tongue so as not to let go with any more expletives but continued to growl angrily through my teeth.
My angry protests soon gave way to plaintive wails and I began to cry. The spanking was a pretty thorough affair and before long, it was all I could do to hug into his lap in submission.
"Darn it, please I'm sorry," I sobbed.
The spanking immediately stopped and I was dropped sprawling on the floor.
What followed, as I knelt on the floor rubbing my hiney and crying, was a long scolding lecture about my behaviour and being a spoilt brat. I was too cowed to argue back and the worst thing was that as I listened I was forced to agree with most of what he had to say. Then he said, "Next time I have to spank you, it will on your bare bottom."
I felt a strange thrill run through me that at the time I did not understand but I said, "You wouldn't dare."
"You bet I would, because by then you will be my wife," he grinned.
"If you think I am marrying a big bullying oaf like you then you are very much mistaken," I pouted.
"Cheer up. I already have a special licence and by the time I rejoin my unit we will be married. But no more phone calls to base."
I flew into his arms and kissed him like I would die, the spanking forgotten, until I tried to sit down that is.
The next few days were a whirlwind. The only guests were the two girls who shared my apartment and a couple of George's army buddies who also happened to have swung some sort of leave.
I quit my job, well George all but quit it for me, and I was told that I would be living with his mother for the duration. I tried to protest but my heart wasn't in it. I had never been so happy.
We only just had time for George to get us to Louisiana and his family before his furlough was up.
The first thing that struck me was the heat. The second was the smell and the verdant surroundings. His family home was halfway to being a farm, although his late father had been a lawyer in the nearby town, so it was quite a way from anywhere, with only a few neighbours.
George had three older married brothers; all but the eldest were in the army, and one younger brother was away at college. He also had a number of sisters, three of whom still lived at home.
I had a devil of a time working out sisters from sisters-in-law and cousins. And they all seemed to be called Susie, Mary or Jane.
"I am glad to welcome a Lizzie into the family," his mother said, giving me a great big hug. "Call me Ma."
She was a formidable looking woman who must have started young to have raised such a large family and to still be in her prime; her eldest son was over 30 and yet she barely looked 50.
It was clear from the start that she was the boss, at least as far as the women were concerned. Although the men seemed to sit easily on the porch with a beer, the women bustled around all seemingly at Ma's direction.
The house was huge and family life revolved around the porch and the big room that had the world's biggest kitchen at one end and the largest table I have ever seen at the other. Even with such a large table, there was still room for a couple of easy chairs and a sofa arranged around a radio set.
The house also boasted a large front parlour and a back room that served no obvious purpose. Upstairs no passageway ran straight for more than 10 feet and the seemingly infinite numbers of bedrooms were set behind a maze of doors and old pictures. Some of the upstairs rooms even had balconies, although sadly not the room that was to be mine.
It felt strange, not to mention exhausting, to be in such a large family after my solitary upbringing, but everyone did their best to make me feel at home.
All too soon George had to leave and I felt that my world was being taken from me. When he tried to leave, I just hugged him and wouldn't let go. He gave me an almighty swat on my behind and told me to behave.
"This is a new life for you, I know it will be hard at first. But mind Ma and it will all turn out fine." It was the last thing he said to me before leaping onto the back of his brother's pick-up as it drove away.
I was put to work at once peeling potatoes; I don't think Ma wanted me to dwell on George going away. It felt strange and nice just doing ordinary things and getting to know Ma. Looking back it was the beginning of a mother-daughter relationship that I had missed growing up, although the stormy nature of our relationship was still ahead of us.
It wasn't long before I got my first insight into how Ma ran her household. Three days after my arrival the five of us - Ma, her three younger daughters and myself - were sitting down for dinner. It was I think the first time that we had had an ordinary family meal that did not involve the extended family and a party.
"Was that Steve Jones I saw you talking to this morning?" Amelia the youngest asked Janey, as if butter wouldn't melt. "Do you know if his older brother has gone to the Army?"
I didn't know who Steve Jones was but I sensed right away something was up and that it might not be a completely innocent question when Janey flashed a worried look at her mother.
"No, why would I speak to him?" Janey replied with irritation.
"Didn't you use to be sweet on him?" Mary asked matter-of-factly.
"That was ages ago," the 19-year-old Janey snapped back.
I noticed that Ma was staring at Janey, although she was trying to do her best not to notice as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. I still could not fathom what was going on.
"Janey Baines, have you been talking to Steve Jones after our little conversation?" Ma asked pointedly.
Janey looked torn as if wrestling with herself before she answered. And although Mary looked as puzzled as me, Amelia looked like the cat with the cream.
"You had better not lie to me," Ma added.
"I only bumped into him; we only spoke for a minute," Janey said at last.
"Seemed to me like you had arranged to meet for a soda," Amelia piped up.
"Hush you," Ma snapped. "Janey is this true?"
"Yes Ma," Janey said defeated.
What happened next was a surprise only to me. Ma just pointed to the other side of the room behind one of the stuffed armchairs and Janey got up blushing and walked over and stood in the corner with her face to the wall.
"After our meal you can cut a switch," Ma said.
Everyone else carried on eating and talking as if nothing had happened but my mind was racing. Surely, Janey was too old to be punished for just meeting a boy. Amelia was the only one to understand my surprise and smirked at me. Then Ma caught it and said:
"Justice is swift in this house. Steve Jones comes from a good family but he is a bad lot. Janey promised me that she would never see him again. You are about to see how I handle broken promises."
After dinner, Janey was released from the corner and sent outside. After 10 minutes, she returned with a thin branch, no thicker than her finger and about two feet long.
Ma led her to the armchair and laid her across both arms with her bottom towards the room and raised her skirts and lowered her panties. Both her sisters were smirking now, but I just gasped to see a near-grown woman's bare white bottom sticking up for everyone to see.
Ma brought the switch down with quick swishing sounds while Janey just yelled and repeated that she was sorry. In no time at all her bottom was red all over with darker plum coloured streaks that were raised in welts all up and down and across both parts of her hiney.
The switching went on for quite a long time while Janey just sobbed. I could not look away, although I must have been almost as embarrassed as Janey. Her sisters did not look embarrassed though; they were openly enjoying the whole thing.
When it was over Janey was put back in the corner holding her skirts up in back with her panties still at her ankles and left there for a good cry. She was there a good hour or more before being sent to her room.
Ma said nothing afterwards and you might think that nothing had happened. But once she was out of earshot, her two sisters discussed the switching excitedly.
"Better than when Mary-Jane got it last summer," Amelia giggled.
"I wouldn't go that far, that was a doozy," Mary replied.
I was slightly horrified. Mary Jane was one of the sisters-in-law, and she had to be at least as old as me.
"How can you be so horrible -- she is your sister?" I asked, not even wanting to know about Mary Jane.
"We are all going to get it sometime." Mary rolled her eyes up at me. "Might as well enjoy it when it's not your turn."
"No one is ever going to treat me like that," I said indignantly.
"What's a matter, city girl? No one ever spanked your tush before?" Amelia made a crack and flounced off.
"Ignore her. Maybe seeing as you are not from around here Ma won't get mad with you," Mary said, sounding distinctly unconvinced.
I went to bed early that night worrying things over in my head. I couldn't believe what I had just seen. It was 1950, the dawn of the second half of the 20th century and women weren't whipped like that. But they were it seemed. I didn't want to think about the fate of daughter-in-laws in this house but thoughts of George spanking me and his last words about minding Ma began to play on my mind.
The next day I noticed that Janey brought a pillow to the breakfast table and even then sat down very carefully with a wince. Her two sisters smirked at her discomfort as she blushed and Ma gave her a quick disapproving look.
"Are you OK?" I asked.
"Yes," Janey replied sullenly. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"She wouldn't be sitting down even with a pillow if she had dared to lie last night," Amelia offered.
"You know all about lying don't you, Amelia Baines?" Janey hissed angrily. "I bet you can still taste the soap and are those marks gone yet?"
It was Amelia's turn to blush and she went back to her food.
I was left wandering just how often punishments were handed out and how Amelia could take such satisfaction from Janey's switching after apparently only recently being punished herself. But apart from the reappearance of the pillow at meal times for the next couple of days and the odd smirk from Amelia, nothing more was said and it was soon forgotten. Forgotten by everyone but me that is.
The days passed and I soon fell into the routine of country life. None of the chores were arduous, but I had little time to myself and things became both a little oppressive and boring.
I asked how I might get into town and was told that Ma went once a week, but with only one car, joyriding was not allowed. I could always walk once my chores were done I was told, but it was an hour's walk to town and I never seemed to have that much time to spare. I asked Mary what there was to do, she being closest to my age I thought we might become friends, but she just shrugged. In fact, my relationship with my sisters-in-law seemed polite but distant.
In my first month I got one trip into town with Ma to help with the groceries. It was nice enough and we had a soda. Although I would have preferred beer, Ma made it clear her views on alcohol before I had even asked.
"It's bad enough that the men drink on the porch but I won't have it in my house and it's not fit for women," she said as we passed the bar. She had a look on her face like it was a sewer or something.
Then one day Ma went to visit one of her sons, and I for once had no chores to do. She had only been gone an hour when a strange car pulled up just before noon.
"Good morning Ma'am. Can I interest you in pots, brushes and sundry household goods," asked the charming man who got out. He was in his early 30s and tipped his hat.
I laughed, as he was kind of a New Yorker's stereotype for a Southern gentleman. After we talked for a while and he realised he would get no trade from me, he made to go. I asked him if he might give me a lift into town and he said it would be his pleasure.
Once in town I decided that an ice cool glass of beer might be nice on a such hot summer's day but the man, whose name I no longer recall, said it would not do for a respectable lady to be seen drinking alone in a bar in the afternoon. I laughed and said he could always join me.
"I don't mind if I do," he smiled.
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