The day my mother took her
slipper to my bare backside
The Mail on Sunday - October 29, 2000
My father, John, worked hard at his
job as an engineer and my mother, Rose, worked hard at her job as
a mother. Both sought perfection in what they did and approval
for the results of their efforts.
I was one of the results of my mother`s efforts. So I was
required to have perfect manners, good school reports, to care
for our home, to be tidy about the house and to maintain a
reputation for moral behaviour that brought credit on the family.
I didn`t always do this. Indeed I was a thoroughly normal,
boisterous easily-bored child, who would risk the odd lie if it
covered a minor transgression. And it was the lie that engendered
the greatest thrashing.
It was wartime and sugar was rationed. A bowl of this
forbidden delight sat in the middle of the table while my mother
fetched some cakes from the kitchen.
A quick lick of my finger, a quick dip in the gorgeous
sweetness and all was as normal when my mother returned. Except
that there suddenly appeared a gaping, glaring crater in the
middle of the forbidden food, clear evidence of a crime, clear
evidence of my guilt.
But I denied all knowledge. So now it was two crimes -
stealing and lying. There was to be no discussion of the matter.
Retribution was immediate and memorable. I got the slipper on a
bare backside.