by Susan Thomas
We had been friends most of our lives and couldn't really remember a time when the three of us were not together. Of course we had the odd falling out as girls will but we had stayed together throughout and we were good girls. Everyone said that we were; they said we were responsible and reliable and sweet; indeed all the things that parents love to hear, were said. We were very well brought up; our parents gave us lots of love, time, guidance and boundaries. We were taken to Church every week, belonged to first the Brownies and then the Girl Guides, and although everyone wanted us to do well academically it was made clear that being a 'good citizen' was the single most important expectation. We responded well to all of that. By the time we got to "A" Levels we were all still very well behaved and dutiful to our parents. Probably some of you will want to throw up at the thought of such well-behaved girls but actually it was nice and we all enjoyed life.
As we entered our last year in the Sixth Form with "A" Level finals and University not far off, we began to think that we had never really been anywhere or done anything without either our parents or some parental substitute being in charge. We didn't want to be rebellious because we had around us plenty of examples of kids who were rebellious and got their fingers burned. One of the girls we had been at primary school with was now, at not quite eighteen, the mother of two children by two different boys and was finding life hard. Every time we met her and cooed over her children she would say something along the lines of, "You don't know how lucky you are. Stay out of trouble." But we did want to do something independent and different.
It was Jess (short for Jessica) who came up with the idea of a holiday and Aimee who suggested a 'gap year' doing voluntary service somewhere abroad. I liked both ideas because I felt as if there had been nothing but external exams since I was eleven years old. We'd had the tests at the end of primary school followed by another load of important tests at fourteen, then two years of GCSEs followed by AS Levels and now "A" Levels. So we made a pact that we would present a joint proposal to our parents for us to take a holiday together alone after "A" levels and then take a 'gap year' before going to university.
Our parents resisted us taking a holiday in Thailand or anywhere so far away where we could get well out of our depth, but eventually we all agreed on Cyprus. They were happy with Cyprus because there were so many Brits out there, English was widely spoken and it was part of the EU. They were much more resistant to the idea of a 'gap year' but good girls though we were we stuck out and eventually they agreed to a very safe form of voluntary service sponsored by the Church.
Eventually, we found ourselves in a taxi going from Paphos airport to a villa which had been rented for us. We were wildly excited and of course very naïve and probably overprotected but we were going to have a good time, free as we were of exams, school and parents, and still with our voluntary service to come. The taxi made its way up the hills along an increasingly narrow and bumpy road until eventually it pulled up at the little farmhouse where the owners of the villa lived. The farm was most unlike an English farm. For a start it had a large terraced area with a canvas cover which seemed to be an outside cooking and eating area. There were hundreds of small plants in pots all around, and everything seemed so dry. Our bags were unpacked although there was no sign of a villa. The owners were a husband and wife; she was short and dumpy with a leathery wrinkled face and a long skirt while he was short and stocky with big thick forearms and wore old clothes and a tired cap. He spoke no English and she only a little and broken, but they took over and put our luggage in the back of an old pick-up and he drove off.
"You come. Come we go to villa through lemons... much nice. Come."
We walked along a path between the lemon groves and came out to a more open area; we thought we had come to paradise. A paved area was in front with a wooden pergola covered with a vine with huge succulent bunches of grapes hanging down. "You eat... all for you. Eat... very good," she said, gesturing at the vine. To one side was a most beautiful pool with a barbecue area and stone table for eating. The villa itself looked wonderful, white and balconied, and beyond it far down below the bluest sea you could imagine. We were just observing this when the pick-up arrived, having followed the circular dirt road that skirted the hill.
We loved the villa, the grapes and the pool, indeed everything. We were soon exploring the area; with its swimming and water sports it was all so exciting, eating out at quay side restaurants until late into the night and walking back with the insects singing our way home. All was wonderful and then we met the boys. They were very nice and extremely attentive without trying it on too much but they were a different dimension. I can't remember whose idea it was to have the party but soon we were planning a big party with a barbecue and lots of drink.
It was a great party helped on its way by alcohol and to be honest some other substances too. As the evening turned to night, the party got louder and louder with the bass of the music booming and bouncing off the hills but facing strong competition from the shouting and splashing of people messing about by the pool. Now we three girls should have remembered that the owners had not wanted to rent to young people; normally, they only rented to families with very young children or older couples. There are plenty of places in Cyprus for kids of our age to let their hair down but our parents were reluctant to let us go to those places. We should have remembered that it was a working farm and the owners were close by and did not want disturbed nights. If only we had remembered, then the party would not have taken place in the villa, and we would not have had our first very sore bottoms. But we didn't and suddenly the music was off and the owners were there looking very angry and shouting in Greek which none of us understood.
We may not have understood the words but we all understood what they wanted, and in five minutes all the guests had gone and we were left with the angry owners. The man just turned to go but his wife stood and shouted at us. "You not good girls... you bad girls... bad." We just stood and looked at her, horrified at being told off. Our lack of response seemed to anger her even more, and suddenly she picked on me. "Your mama cross with you, bad girl. Shamed so she beat you!" she shouted, and with that she grabbed hold of me, turned me round and smacked me hard across my bottom several times. She may have been small, but years of hard work had made her strong, and I was only in a swimming costume so my bottom stung like mad from the smacks. I could only manage a feeble, "Sorry," as she turned and stormed off through the lemon groves.
I have to say that being shouted at and told off was a very new experience for us and not one we liked. We were very subdued as we cleared up the party mess very quietly indeed. It was around three in the morning before we went to bed.
I simply couldn't sleep. I was not used to being a bad girl and my conscience was given free rein by the middle-of-the-night doldrums. I had known that we were meant to behave ourselves and I knew that I wouldn't have had a party like that at home. We had not been in the least considerate to anyone else and that didn't even take into account the various substances that had been brought along by others. The farmer's wife was right - my mother would have been ashamed of me, although she wouldn't have beaten me. I had a nasty feeling that if the farmer's wife had been my mother she would have beaten me, although my lack of experience meant I couldn't imagine the details. It was around half past six when my whirling conscience finally made up its mind. I would go and apologise properly. I knew that they would be up early.
I showered quickly and pulled on clean shorts and tee shirt but even as I did so a doubt came into my mind - suppose she was to beat me? She had been very cross and had even smacked me so if I went to the farm would she beat me? Suddenly, I didn't care; in fact the thought came into my head that to be beaten would serve me right, and it would also be a new experience for me. I would go and ask her to beat me. As soon as I'd made that decision I felt a lot better.
I walked briskly through the lemon groves towards the farm, feeling determined, silly and frightened all together, with a
curious feeling of wanting to know what a beating would be like. I was nearly at the farm when I heard running feet behind me. I turned and there were Aimee and Jess. I explained in a rather embarrassed way what I intended to do. They looked at each and told me that they had guessed precisely what I was up to. "Come on," said Jess "if you're going to get a sore bum we had better have it too." It showed just how well we all knew one another and how strong our friendship was.
When she saw us the farmer's wife looked very displeased. She didn't exactly have her hands on her hips but it was very stern body language. I stammered out our apologies and then said, "If you want to beat us, well me anyway, we will take it." Then I sort of did a pantomime of her spanking us. I enacted spanking because I hadn't a clue as to what else she might do. She and her husband stood staring at us, and then they had a rapid conversation in Greek. Finally, he sort of nodded and turned back to stare at us, then she said, "Back tonight... you come back tonight. I be your Mama... beat you all, bad girls." She showed us on my watch the time she wanted us and we all left.
It was a very odd day that day as we endlessly discussed what she would do to us, our ideas ranging from hairbrushes through to riding crops. Every horror story we had ever heard about corporal punishment was recalled and was exaggerated. I don't remember too much about the day other than our anxiety and speculation, but one detail stays with me. We were sitting around the pool and Aimee decided to go in for a swim. I was on a sun-lounger and she passed by me wearing a very high cut costume she had bought from the really good-looking owner of a beach shop. Her mum would never have let her buy one like that back at home. It left a good deal of her bottom showing, and I looked at the smooth, soft, delicate skin of her bottom and wondered what it was going to look like after the farmer's wife had finished with us.
When the time came for us to return to the farm, we walked very slowly, becoming more nervous with every step. I began to think that there was nothing they could do if we just didn't go, but I lacked the courage to tell the others how scared I was. The path came out on the opposite side of the rough dirt farm road and there we could see her clearing up after their meal while he watered pot plants. Rich odours from their meal still lingered in the air and mingled with the wild rosemary by the path. She spotted us and spoke to him and he just turned and stared at us. In the open space by their covered dining area was a bench just sitting in the middle which had not been there before. On it was a bundle of very thin switches (as I now know they are called); in all there must have been a dozen of them. I wasn't sure what wood they were; Cyprus is not rich in trees, although the farm had hundreds of lemon trees, but they looked too straight for that.
Her English was poor (and our Greek non-existent) but she was able to get across to us that we were each to lie on the bench and she was going to use those thin switches on our bottoms. I have to say my spirits rose because they looked far too thin to hurt much. How wrong I was. I went to go first but she wouldn't let me; I was to be last and Aimee first. Then it became clear that Jess and I were to hold Aimee down; one was to hold her feet and the other her arms. That didn't sound too good at all.
Aimee went over and stood by the bench looking very white-faced. She was about to lie down on it when the farmer's wife shouted at her and pointed at her shorts. "Down, down," she yelled. Aimee couldn't help it - she looked straight at the farmer who was standing watching. His wife spoke to him and he turned away with a shrug but didn't leave. Aimee undid her shorts, let them slide down to her ankles, and then looked at the wife. "Down, down," she commanded again, pointing at Aimee's knickers. Poor Aimee, her face was a battleground, caught between going whiter still and blushing. She shot a quick look to check the farmer was turned away and then dropped her knickers, before quickly getting on the bench and stretching herself out. I knelt down and held her shoulders while Jess held her ankles as we'd been told. The wife, who had moved the switches to a low wall, now picked one and came and stood by the side of the bench.
"Bad girl... Mama beat you," she said, and raising the switch brought it down on Aimee's bare bottom. She really didn't raise it very high, certainly not even to shoulder height, but it made a nasty high-pitched swishing sound as it went through the air, and an even nastier high-pitched 'shrack' as it landed on her bottom. Poor Aimee jumped visibly as the switch connected, and made a little sound. Then the switch swished down again and made that horrible 'shrack' as it landed. Aimee jumped again, and I noticed two things at once: the farmer had turned and was watching again, and the first switch had left a thin raised line on Aimee's bum. Even as the third switch landed and I saw that the second had already left the same thin mark, Aimee jumped again with another little sound.
She really showed no great signs of distress for the first eight or so cuts with the switch, but suddenly it seemed too much for her and every time the switch landed she tried to bring her legs and head up and made an "Ahh!" sound. I was trying to keep count, although it was hard with Aimee's wriggling, but I think it was the sixteenth horrid 'shrack' across her bottom when she broke and yelled out, "I'm sorry, really I am. I'm very sorry." Then she started to cry. They were not deep wracking sobs but the tears rolled down her cheeks, and every time the switch landed she made a choking, tear-laden sob.
It was horrid being close to her and seeing those nasty, thin, red lines appear on her smooth, rounded bottom. The marks were all close together but seemed worse on the cheek furthest from the farmer's wife; on that cheek they seemed to wrap themselves around the curve of her bottom. I suppose that was because the end of the switch was more flexible.
As each swish was followed by the nasty 'shrack', Aimee's cries and jerks grew worse, and we were finding it hard to hold her. When we got to what I think was the thirtieth cut, the wife stopped. She told Aimee to get up, and as I looked at her husband he once more turned his back. Aimee got up very slowly, holding one hand gingerly to her bottom and rubbing her eyes and nose with the back of her hand. I helped her pull up her clothes and do up her shorts.
The farmer's wife had used three switches in total on Aimee. Now she picked a fresh one and beckoned to Jess, who was shaking so much that she found it hard to undo her shorts. In the end I had to help her, pulling them down together with her knickers because she just seemed paralysed. She got reluctantly onto the bench and kept whispering, "Oh no, oh no!" over and over again.
Jess started crying at the very first cut, and by the third or fourth one she was really making a fuss. She carried on so much that Aimee and I had a hard job holding her which, as Aimee told us later, kept her mind off her own sore bum. Honestly, I was embarrassed, and vowed that I would do much better. Jess was making far more fuss than Aimee, and I could see that her bottom was sore because those vicious, thin, red lines were raised up above her smooth skin, like little tight lines of string, and they were closely bunched together. Finally, Jess was allowed up, and I glared at the farmer so that he once again turned away which allowed us to help get Jess' things back on in some sort of privacy. Then it was my turn.
Although my hands were shaking and my mouth so dry I could barely open it, I managed to get my shorts and knickers down really quickly, and I sort of flung myself on the bench because I just wanted it to be over. I had felt sorry for Aimee and Jess, but I had also seen how sore they had been made and it had made me very frightened indeed.
Unlike the other two, I reached out and held on tight to the end of the bench. I was determined to be as brave as I could even if I didn't feel brave. I know I listened hard for that awful high-pitched swish but I didn't hear it. The first I knew that my punishment had begun was a sudden very hot line across my bottom. It was kind of a cross between a bad sting and a burn. In spite of my determination not to make a fuss, I felt my body jerk. I had barely realised she had landed the first cut when there was another line of fire on my bottom, and I jerked again as if my body had nothing to do with me and was operating all by itself. I gripped the bench hard and shut my eyes - each of the cuts was awf
ul and I would not have believed that such a thin switch could create such an intense pain. I very quickly lost count, but just like Aimee I found it all got too much. The problem is that the first couple of cuts land on a nice smooth bottom which isn't already sore, but by the time you get to eight or so they are landing on a sore bottom and the pain of the first ones has not yet gone. The pain grows and grows until it reaches a crescendo and you almost panic because you wonder just how bad it can get. My body kept jerking outside of my control, and then I realised that the tears were rolling silently down my face as my bottom was just so sore. I couldn't help crying out, "I'm sorry to have been bad... sorry."
The farmer's wife simply kept up the same rhythm, not too slow and not too fast, but then something curious happened. I saw clearly what a silly, smug little girl I was and how I had been so pleased with the barbecue that I had never thought about anyone else. I saw that I had brought about the punishment that Aimee and Jess had endured, that it was my entire fault and I deserved a really thorough punishment. I stuck my bottom up and my head down and wanted to be switched. I don't know whether the wife realised what was in my head, or whether my sticking my bottom up annoyed her, but she abruptly changed pace. The last half dozen came hard and fast and I shrieked with the intensity of it. I felt Jess and Aimee tighten their grip, but then it was over.
I stood up shakily and wiped my face with some tissues that Aimee handed me. I pulled up my clothes, not bothering to check if the farmer was looking. Then I turned to look at the farmer's wife. She reached out and gave me a big hug and kissed my cheeks, then she did the same for Aimee and Jess. "No bad now... good... good girls now." We found we rather liked her hugs and kisses and had no problem with several repeat performances. Then her husband stepped forward. I wasn't too sure about being hugged and kissed by him, but he simply shook hands with all three of us, his expression never changing. We found that saying goodbye was like saying goodbye to your favourite grandma. She had given us a really good hiding but somehow we loved her.
