Can you see her?” There, in the bay window is sat the lady in question. A tall woman, sat straight, dipping her pen in the inkwell, let’s look to see what she is writing. Almost a minute passed, but it felt longer. Karen looked at her beautiful Mummy, the rounded body looked so cosy and even at this moment strangely comforting, her Mummy bear almost. She saw her Mummy looking at her bush, her hips, she could almost read the thoughts in her head…”My my, my little girl is a girl no more.” Soon her bottom was a lovely red, spreading down to her upper thigh. Mummy remembered the sit spot and how it stung, so delivered ten right across the point where her voluptuous cheeks joined her thighs. How they bounced, sinking in, then springing up instantly, and how she wriggled trying to pull free of the pain. But Mummy held her firmly, a tight grip around her waist holding the hand that tried to protect her. This annoyed Mummy, she was in mid flow! Karen felt aroused slightly, which made her feel even more of a naughty girl. But stood before Mummy as she scolded her was such a mixture of feelings. Her pubic hair had grown, it was now a delightful mixture of light fair hair with a hint of ginger, like her hair. The mirror of the dressing table was behind her, so Mummy could see her bottom, a bottom she was so proud of, like her new breasts, pert, and pleasingly plump.

In Karen’s case Mummy simply said, “I have signed it, and returned it already. Let me say this just once Karen. If you are ever punished at school, you will be punished again at home, understood?” Karen took out the envelope containing the slip….the slip…the white crispy slip, the DETENTION SLIP, and walked gingerly by the stairs and into the kitchen. “Hello Mum. I got this today.” The sobbing didn’t as the heat sank in, and pain exploded, she just wailed and wailed.”Now up you get… and straight to bed young lady, AND stay there… Once you have stopped crying I don’t want to hear another peep out of you…do you hear? Or you will be going over my knee again… Okay it’s done!” Karen was on her tummy. She was sniffing now, not crying, and trying to understand the lovely feeling she has in her most intimate area, as she gently pushes up and down on the bed, her bright red bobbing up and down, which she can see, in the mirror, if she looks over. Which of course she does… As she climbed the stairs thoughts of her own upbringing and the spankings she had received raced through her mind, what part of her naughty bottom had taught her the most? What words had her Mummy used to send the message home? What advice from her mentors, the W.I. and the Vicar helped her do what was needed? The memories spoke to her…”Spare the rod, spoil the child.”“It is for her own good.”“She will thank you one day.”

The Vicar at Saint Hugh’s Church used her as an example many times. “If you are not sure what to do, go and see her, she’ll have probably done it before, she’s marvellous!”

Oh shit! Why today, why does she need a hug? Today of all days when I have let her down.” Thought Karen. At its height Mrs Walter ran a respectable business advertising her services openly and contracting via the church magazine for a supply of birch rods from a reputable supplier. Have a look at the engravings below the newspaper cutting, of finishing schools at the time she ran hers, who knows, one of them may be her school. The school my wife and I have sent them to, in Windsor have dismissed them. It appears their final act of naughtiness was to wear no bloomers and allow their dresses to blow up in the wind at what the girls called ‘Windy Corner’! We admit that we seem to have lost control of them, I have been away working for the Foreign Office, and my wife has three more children at home, even with the help of our maids, we cannot in all honesty deal with our two daughters at home. We love Charlotte and Samantha very much, but it is time to admit reality. We have been too soft with them, we have spoiled them and pampered to their every whim.Something I read made me think this was it. But, now, after a few letters to the right people, I do not think that is the house we are looking for. But it gives you a good impression of the well to do area. I have researched the accounts of ‘the Lady With the Birch’ as well as I can. I have narrowed its location down to Oakfield Road, in Clifton, near Bristol. A rather well to do and respected residential district. I have scoured as many Victorian photographs of dwellings in that typical middle class suburban district as I can find, here is one of Rokeby House. When she went to catch the bus now, it was wiggle of a young woman. Even the man with the bowler hat who sat in the same seat every day started to smile, and greet her with a tipping of the hat. She had no idea that he began to see her differently, she just assumed it was cordial familiarity with a regular person he saw on the bus.

My wife and I feel quite ashamed to admit that our two eldest daughters, Charlotte and Samantha, twins, but not identical, have become unruly, rude, haughty and quite simply out of control. In two years or so we want them to enter society as young ladies. So, this one is definitely on the same street, very close to where the real one was, and quite likely looks pretty much the same. Mrs Walters and her girls would have walked by here daily, the scene is set, you can now visualise the area.The journey to the end of the day was like some heroic trek in a fantasy novel. Long and arduous. The lunch time collection of the ‘death sentence’ sent a cold shiver to her tummy. The words left the slip and ran amok in her brain. There before her the words threatened her bottom. The shop assistant was indeed a W.I. member, and knew the women in the village. Mummy knew that it would soon be common knowledge that she was now armed. The leaving of school behind her and the journey home was sullen. The man in the bowler hat frowned at her as if he knew. The walk from the bus stop to her lovely cottage was heavy and slow. Two of Mummy’s friends saw her and nudged each other. Was that a snigger? Mummy was a perfect product of the 1950’s. A dutiful housewife who had kept an excellent house since the day she married. Sadly her husband was no longer around, but stoically, with a stiff upper lip and a gallon of fortitude, she had carried on running the house, her home, with pride.

A formidable no nonsense women. Her standing in the community was the fuel that drove her on. At Christmas she probably had to do without, to provide a lovely Christmas for her daughter. She was the woman you went to to get something done, Tombolas, Raffles, Carol Concerts to name a few. In short, she was a very much loved and respected member of the village community. I have found this news paper account, I hope you can read it! …it is the start of our story…we answer it, and send our two very naughty unruly girls to her. Karen took the note, her hand shaking slightly. She could feel the cheeks on her face flush. “No Mummy I do not have any homework tonight.”

Mummy sat on the bed, and slid the slipper deftly under the pillow. Then turned a nervous, worried Karen to face her. “I told you quite plainly Karen, that if you were naughty at school, you would be punished at home.” As she did this she tugged the pyjama bottoms down, to land in a puddle at her daughters ankles. Mummy noticed, and the other W.I.Women noticed. Not only noticed, but mentioned it, in a subtle way. “Your Karen is making a fine young lady, she’ll certainly turns some heads one day!” Her mummy, was at the very least, delighted! “Ohhh you clever girl Karen, you have made your Mummy so very proud. This Saturday, we are off to town you and I, we will go to Rushet’s Cafe on the High Street, and I’ll take you to your favourite bakers and get you a lovely cream cake to have after Sunday tea! Then my dear, we will go looking at uniforms and satchels. You are going to look lovely, you deserve the best….well done!”