I was 13 at the time.
My father believed in never spanking above the knee (some old Irish custom).
I was caught stealing from our grandmother's home and I was told to go up stairs and prepair for punishment. This meant laying face down on the bed, pants rolled up above the knees, and rolling the socks down to your ankles, exposing the bare calfs to the switch.
After half an hour, my father came in with a stout willow switch, and told me what I had done was terrible -- stealing from an old lady! He told me it would be a far worse whipping than ever. He told me that besides getting my legs whipped, the bottoms of my feet would also be punished. He said there are many more nerve endings in the feet, and that I was now old enough to experience such pain.
At that point, he pulled off my white fluffy socks. I was embarrased to have my feet exposed.
Then came the lashes. The first one landed across the back of my knees, and burned like fire. Soon my calves were crisscrosed with burning red weals. Later I discovered some had bled a little. After 30 strokes to my legs, my father told be phase two of the punishment was to begin.
I felt the switch hit across the soles of my feet, and the pain was blinding. I was now in tears. The next stroke came upon the heels, and I writhed in pain as I beged him to stop. He ignored my pleas. The next lash hit acrss my sensitive arches, and I thought I would pass out.
After 20 horrible lashes on the bottoms of my feet, I was ordered to look in the mirror to remind me what would happen if I stole again.
When I looked in the mirror, I saw that my calves were red and angry with welts criss crossing, and the soles of my feet were bright red.
It was two days before I could wear shoes again.
I learned my lesson well.