I "Got The Belt" When I Was A Kid
New Years Day 1985, I remember it well, but for all the wrong reasons! My backside had only just recovered from a fairly severe belting, followed by my first caning across my bum for being caught with my then girlfriend at the second year school Christmas party. The link to that story is <a href="http://www.experienceproject.com/stories/Got-Caned-At-School/3816180" target="ep_blank">EP Link</a>
Anyway, my Gran used to live at Newton Aycliffe and we (mam, dad and me) used to go through every other Saturday for the afternoon. Unfortunately I was in a right mood because Sunderland were playing away at Newcastle at 3pm and my dad had refused to take me (I was still grounded) and I had to settle for the next best thing of listening to it on the radio.
To cut a long story short, Sunderland got beaten 3-1, Peter Beardsley scored a hat-trick and we had Howard Gayle and Gary Bennett sent off. All in all it was possibly the worst I'd ever felt in my 12 1/2 years on this planet. When we went 2-1 down, I cursed very loudly at the radio, which led to a warning smack as I was lying on the floor trying to hear the commentary, which a line from my dad I'll never forget - "say that again, and you'll regret it!"
Then we conceded a penalty, I swore to myself. They scored, I swore under my breath, but still had hope we'd come back. Then Beno got himself sent off and I let fly with swear words I didn't even think I knew!
I don't know who was more shocked - me or my Gran, bless her! From the look on my dad's face, I knew I was in big trouble because he looked as if he was going to explode. My mam hissed something at me, but I was trying to backtrack by apologising faster than the words could come out. My dad got up off the settee, picked me up by grabbing a handful of my tshirt and virtually marched me out, down both flights of stairs (see lived in a second floor maisonette) and threw me into the back seat of the car (an orange Allegro). The only words said were along the lines of "wait here". I was sort of relieved because I thought I was going to be walloped there and then, so I hadn't so I could be getting away with it.
Maybe 10 minutes later they both came back to the car and we set off on the 30 minute drive back home. This had to be the longest drive ever, even though my dad, who never went at more than 56mph, suddenly thought he was Ayrton Senna and was driving like a lunatic! I got a lecture to end all lectures about my behaviour, how I had changed, and how it was GOING to change in future. Both of them from the front, lecturing in stereo. I was under no illusions I was going to be sore by the time they had finished with me.
When we finally got home, I learned how a condemned man must feel on his final walk to his death, because the walk from the car into the house was a killer. I knew I was in for a serious hiding, and my bum was still slightly marked from two weeks earlier. That had hurt, this I suspected was going to hurt more.
I finally got into the living room, my dad went upstairs, while my mam closed all the curtains. I just stood there feeling a bit sorry for myself, and with a desperate feeling I needed to go to the toilet. Two or three minutes later my dad came back down and started taking his belt off. I can remember as he doubled it over saying really calmly about letting everyone down and I would never embarrass him again. He just pointed at his armchair and from recent painful experience I knew what to do. Trousers and underpants down, and bend over the back of the chair.
What followed must have been about 12 of the most vicious lashes of his belt that my backside ever had the mispleasure of receiving. My constant apologising made no difference, the tears were flowing and the yelps got louder with each stroke. A big mistake was letting another swear word out at one point which got me a few extra hard ones across the back of my thighs too! I wasn't bothered about crying, making a scene, of my bits dangling about all over - I was just concentrating on trying my hardest not to jump up!
When he was finished I gingerly pulled my pants and trousers back up and limped to my room, furiously rubbing my burning backside. On slamming the door I called my dad a derogatory term for a child born out of wedlock. Thankfully he didn't hear, and he'd turn in his grave if he heard my potty mouth these days. I spent that night and the following night lying on my side, with the following day being very uncomfortable to sit! But the only thing this taught me was not to get overheard swearing by them, instead of not to swear!
Anyway, my Gran used to live at Newton Aycliffe and we (mam, dad and me) used to go through every other Saturday for the afternoon. Unfortunately I was in a right mood because Sunderland were playing away at Newcastle at 3pm and my dad had refused to take me (I was still grounded) and I had to settle for the next best thing of listening to it on the radio.
To cut a long story short, Sunderland got beaten 3-1, Peter Beardsley scored a hat-trick and we had Howard Gayle and Gary Bennett sent off. All in all it was possibly the worst I'd ever felt in my 12 1/2 years on this planet. When we went 2-1 down, I cursed very loudly at the radio, which led to a warning smack as I was lying on the floor trying to hear the commentary, which a line from my dad I'll never forget - "say that again, and you'll regret it!"
Then we conceded a penalty, I swore to myself. They scored, I swore under my breath, but still had hope we'd come back. Then Beno got himself sent off and I let fly with swear words I didn't even think I knew!
I don't know who was more shocked - me or my Gran, bless her! From the look on my dad's face, I knew I was in big trouble because he looked as if he was going to explode. My mam hissed something at me, but I was trying to backtrack by apologising faster than the words could come out. My dad got up off the settee, picked me up by grabbing a handful of my tshirt and virtually marched me out, down both flights of stairs (see lived in a second floor maisonette) and threw me into the back seat of the car (an orange Allegro). The only words said were along the lines of "wait here". I was sort of relieved because I thought I was going to be walloped there and then, so I hadn't so I could be getting away with it.
Maybe 10 minutes later they both came back to the car and we set off on the 30 minute drive back home. This had to be the longest drive ever, even though my dad, who never went at more than 56mph, suddenly thought he was Ayrton Senna and was driving like a lunatic! I got a lecture to end all lectures about my behaviour, how I had changed, and how it was GOING to change in future. Both of them from the front, lecturing in stereo. I was under no illusions I was going to be sore by the time they had finished with me.
When we finally got home, I learned how a condemned man must feel on his final walk to his death, because the walk from the car into the house was a killer. I knew I was in for a serious hiding, and my bum was still slightly marked from two weeks earlier. That had hurt, this I suspected was going to hurt more.
I finally got into the living room, my dad went upstairs, while my mam closed all the curtains. I just stood there feeling a bit sorry for myself, and with a desperate feeling I needed to go to the toilet. Two or three minutes later my dad came back down and started taking his belt off. I can remember as he doubled it over saying really calmly about letting everyone down and I would never embarrass him again. He just pointed at his armchair and from recent painful experience I knew what to do. Trousers and underpants down, and bend over the back of the chair.
What followed must have been about 12 of the most vicious lashes of his belt that my backside ever had the mispleasure of receiving. My constant apologising made no difference, the tears were flowing and the yelps got louder with each stroke. A big mistake was letting another swear word out at one point which got me a few extra hard ones across the back of my thighs too! I wasn't bothered about crying, making a scene, of my bits dangling about all over - I was just concentrating on trying my hardest not to jump up!
When he was finished I gingerly pulled my pants and trousers back up and limped to my room, furiously rubbing my burning backside. On slamming the door I called my dad a derogatory term for a child born out of wedlock. Thankfully he didn't hear, and he'd turn in his grave if he heard my potty mouth these days. I spent that night and the following night lying on my side, with the following day being very uncomfortable to sit! But the only thing this taught me was not to get overheard swearing by them, instead of not to swear!
