I Was Spanked As A Teen
Barb and Shirley Get the Switch!
Recently I visited my Mom, who is now 83 but still lives alone in the house in which we were brought up. She thought it might be nice to take a drive to her deceased parents' farm where she and her siblings were raised. Of course I was very familiar with the place, having spent many hours of fun there while visiting my Grandma and Grandpa.
We stopped to view the old property from my parked car. It looked pretty much the same, except now it was owned by strangers. The old barn was still there too.
Then as she looked at the barn from the roadside, Mom said something that was rather uncharacteristic of her.
“That barn is where Aunt Barb and I used to get the switch from our Pa.”
Mom was usually tight-lipped about her family punishments, and really only mentioned the subject to me once, almost in passing. At the time she went into very little detail.
“Really, Mom?” I replied.
“Oh yes,” Mom continued, and then proceeded to tell me a story about how she and Aunt Barb really got it good one day for, of all things, starting a fire!
She said it was the Summer of 1945, when Germany had surrendered and we were waiting for the Japanese to follow suit. Mom was 12 and Aunt Barb, who should have known better, was 15.
They had been playing in the property woods when Barb got the brilliant idea to make a campfire. The girls selected some sticks and brush, stacked them up into a little peak, and proceeded to light the dry wood with some matches Barb had brought along (I suspect she had this intention all along).
Problem was, they failed to ring the campfire with a protective border of stones, and before long the fire had gotten out of control. Mom panicked and ran back to the house to tell Grandpa that his woods were on fire.
Grandpa returned with a big fire extinguisher and sprayed the flames with it until the fire was out, then kicked up the dirt around it to be sure it was smothered.
Then he told Barbara and Shirley to go up to their room and wait.
Mom said she was really scared because she knew she was really going to get a hiding. Grandpa was not a cruel man by any means, but being of farmer stock he believed in discipline, and the most common weapon of choice around that area was a good limber switch!
Grandpa came up presently and got the information from the girls, who spoke while looking down at the floor. When he was satisfied that both girls were equally guilty, he told them to march out to the barn.
On the way Grandpa stopped at an old apple tree and cut a shoot from a number of them growing around the base. Then he drove the girls forward to the barn, using the shoot as a goad to prod them in their backs as they walked to their doom.
In the barn was a stout wooden sawhorse. Grandpa did carpentry work (he was a farmer on the side, and generally sold his produce at a farm stand), He lined the two girls up to face the crossbar. He pointed with the switch.
“Shirley—there,” indicating the right end, “and Barbara—there,” showing her the left end, so the two girls lay side by side over the horse, gripping the lower bar with their hands to steady themselves.
Their dresses went north and their bloomers went south.
Suddenly the barn was filled with the sound of “Whoot! Whoot! Whoot! Whoot!” as the switch whistled and landed on the squirming rumps of the two girls, who also filled the air with the sounds of “Ooh! Aah! Oooh!!” as they cried out and begged for mercy.
While he whipped, Grandpa lectured Mom and Aunt Barb about the foolishness of their enterprise, how they could have burned down the entire property, and what were they doing with matches in the first place! The two girls chorused promises to be good, never to do such a stupid thing again, and please, Pa, we've had enough!
Grandpa at last stopped the switching, satisfied that the girls' bare heinies had been sufficiently striped all the way down to their knees. Then he ordered them to get up and pull up their underdrawers.
Clutching the seats of their dresses, they followed Grandpa back to the house, sobbing and sniffling all the way.
Grandma told the girls to go up to their room and lie face-down on their beds with their dresses up. She presently went up with a jar of Cloverine Salve and spread it on their welts and abrasions. She did not lecture the girls, or reprimand Grandpa either, because this sort of thing happened all the time in the country, and was perfectly normal.
Mom concluded that she took a while to sit again, as did Aunt Barb. She emphasized that she loved Grandpa very much, and that he only did what he was supposed to do to a couple of very naughty girls. I remember Grandpa as a nice man who loved his children and grandchildren. He died in 1980.
We drove back to Mom's house, not speaking further of the incident.
Recently I visited my Mom, who is now 83 but still lives alone in the house in which we were brought up. She thought it might be nice to take a drive to her deceased parents' farm where she and her siblings were raised. Of course I was very familiar with the place, having spent many hours of fun there while visiting my Grandma and Grandpa.
We stopped to view the old property from my parked car. It looked pretty much the same, except now it was owned by strangers. The old barn was still there too.
Then as she looked at the barn from the roadside, Mom said something that was rather uncharacteristic of her.
“That barn is where Aunt Barb and I used to get the switch from our Pa.”
Mom was usually tight-lipped about her family punishments, and really only mentioned the subject to me once, almost in passing. At the time she went into very little detail.
“Really, Mom?” I replied.
“Oh yes,” Mom continued, and then proceeded to tell me a story about how she and Aunt Barb really got it good one day for, of all things, starting a fire!
She said it was the Summer of 1945, when Germany had surrendered and we were waiting for the Japanese to follow suit. Mom was 12 and Aunt Barb, who should have known better, was 15.
They had been playing in the property woods when Barb got the brilliant idea to make a campfire. The girls selected some sticks and brush, stacked them up into a little peak, and proceeded to light the dry wood with some matches Barb had brought along (I suspect she had this intention all along).
Problem was, they failed to ring the campfire with a protective border of stones, and before long the fire had gotten out of control. Mom panicked and ran back to the house to tell Grandpa that his woods were on fire.
Grandpa returned with a big fire extinguisher and sprayed the flames with it until the fire was out, then kicked up the dirt around it to be sure it was smothered.
Then he told Barbara and Shirley to go up to their room and wait.
Mom said she was really scared because she knew she was really going to get a hiding. Grandpa was not a cruel man by any means, but being of farmer stock he believed in discipline, and the most common weapon of choice around that area was a good limber switch!
Grandpa came up presently and got the information from the girls, who spoke while looking down at the floor. When he was satisfied that both girls were equally guilty, he told them to march out to the barn.
On the way Grandpa stopped at an old apple tree and cut a shoot from a number of them growing around the base. Then he drove the girls forward to the barn, using the shoot as a goad to prod them in their backs as they walked to their doom.
In the barn was a stout wooden sawhorse. Grandpa did carpentry work (he was a farmer on the side, and generally sold his produce at a farm stand), He lined the two girls up to face the crossbar. He pointed with the switch.
“Shirley—there,” indicating the right end, “and Barbara—there,” showing her the left end, so the two girls lay side by side over the horse, gripping the lower bar with their hands to steady themselves.
Their dresses went north and their bloomers went south.
Suddenly the barn was filled with the sound of “Whoot! Whoot! Whoot! Whoot!” as the switch whistled and landed on the squirming rumps of the two girls, who also filled the air with the sounds of “Ooh! Aah! Oooh!!” as they cried out and begged for mercy.
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While he whipped, Grandpa lectured Mom and Aunt Barb about the foolishness of their enterprise, how they could have burned down the entire property, and what were they doing with matches in the first place! The two girls chorused promises to be good, never to do such a stupid thing again, and please, Pa, we've had enough!
Grandpa at last stopped the switching, satisfied that the girls' bare heinies had been sufficiently striped all the way down to their knees. Then he ordered them to get up and pull up their underdrawers.
Clutching the seats of their dresses, they followed Grandpa back to the house, sobbing and sniffling all the way.
Grandma told the girls to go up to their room and lie face-down on their beds with their dresses up. She presently went up with a jar of Cloverine Salve and spread it on their welts and abrasions. She did not lecture the girls, or reprimand Grandpa either, because this sort of thing happened all the time in the country, and was perfectly normal.
Mom concluded that she took a while to sit again, as did Aunt Barb. She emphasized that she loved Grandpa very much, and that he only did what he was supposed to do to a couple of very naughty girls. I remember Grandpa as a nice man who loved his children and grandchildren. He died in 1980.
We drove back to Mom's house, not speaking further of the incident.
