A voice crying out

As a child I very often cried out for someone to love me for who I was. It was a difficult childhood back then in the sixties, I do not remember much of the Fifties, too young you see. However much I tried to believe my mommy and my daddy loved me, the math never added up.
Dad was the patriarch of the family, the oldest son of the oldest son. His word was law, cousins came from near and far to ask for advice, a business deal here a family matter there. Dad left the day to day running of the family to my mom. Mom in turn left the disciplining of my brother and myself to my big sister. Her name is Celestina and she is nine years my senior, Graham my brother is just over four years older tham me. Last of all is Peta, my baby sister, she is nine years younger than me.
I can only ever remember one spanking from my mother in all my growing up years, Spankings from Celestina however I can remember, there were an aweful lot of them. At least one a week, more often more than two a week. I suffered from that malady all little boys suffer from, if my mommy loved me she would spank me.
I was nine when Peta arrived on the scene and the events in my life, coupled with the formation of the Republic of Zambia caused me to hate Peta with a passion. Mommy has a new baby and now I am not wanted, because six weeks after Peta was born the three of us were loaded into the family car and driven to South Africa where we were quite literally dumped at the boarding school. Mommy and daddy plus baby Peta said goodbye, be good and scarpered, never to be seen for the whole year.
I saw my siblings every weekend and ran riot through the school. If I was a good little boy, nobody bothered with me but if a naughty boy I got lots of attention. I quickly discovered that attention of any kind was good, even the kind that left me with a very sore bottom. At least I got some attention.
I had been at this hostel for about six months by now and the hostel staff were disparing about what to do with me. I was a nine year old walking disaster zone. Along came Mrs. Carol Durell, She was a small dumpy lady with a heart of gold who took me under her wing and loved me like no other. She also made sure I behaved myself.

Spanking now took on a new meaning, If I  misbehaved at all Mrs Durell knew about it, that afternoon in the privacy of her quarters, down came my shorts and underwear and across her knees I went. Her very large, very hard hairbrush lectured me about the error and folly of my ways.  Never stopping at the first sign of tears but continuing until she heard true remorse in my voice and cries. She would send me into the corner where I stood until I was called where upon she would gather me into her arms and hug me. Kissing away my tears and then putting me to bed. For two and a half years Mrs Durell cared for me, loved me and spanked me for each and every naughty deed. It got to the point where I never got punished by any of the teachers, they simply sent me to visit my other mommy.

Due to a very bad experience with an older pupil who assaulted me, I made certain that I behaved with all the male teachers at school. At high school I met Marta, Marta Van Rensburg, the lady that became my other mom, She worked with my mother and basically adopted me into her family. She had two sons of her own who spent the school holidays with their father leaving her alone. She took me with her family to a picnic resort and gave me my first spanking from her on that trip. She caught me smoking and even though my own mother never did anything about it Marta spanked me using a wooden ruler similar to a chalkboard ruler.
Marta or mom as she became spanked me on many an occasion, she loved me implicitly, demanded the very best from all three of us and when we failed to live up to our standards, took us all over her knee and spanked us. She made sure my grades were good, If I skylarked she disciplined me, if I could not graasp the work she spent hours helping me, always striving to instil in me a desire to achieve my very best potential.