Back To The Beginning

Very early childhood memory. I'm stood at the top of the stairs listening to my parents rowing in the kitchen. My mother tells my father, "You're the most selfish person I know."

The child thinks: " So this is what the world is really like." And, "You can't rely on these people for anything."

The child feels guilty. He has found his parents out. He also feels comforted. The worst thing he can imagine has just happened- and he is still here. He has lost his faith in his parents and has discovered his faith in himself.  Knowledge is power. Wisdom is strength.

Then And Now

My mother wouldn't get down on the floor to play. My grandmother- who was crippled- did so sometimes, but my mother, never. I rack my memory  for times she made the effort to engage with me one to one and there's a game of tennis. "The aim is for me to hit the ball so you can't get to it, isn't it?" I asked, naively. "No." she said. She was never any good at explaining things.

There were codes. I only ever knew I'd transgressed them after I'd made the slip. I asked her a question about Churchill once. "Sir Winston to you," she snapped.

Thereby inoculating me against the Tory world view.

She never worked. She put meals on the table. She insisted on an hour to herself after lunch so she could listen to Women's Hour. "Go to your rooms and play- quietly". A daily woman came in to do the cleaning.

In my farthest memories I'm playing round her feet. She is big-boned, statuesque- a sulky giantess. The games are in all in my head.

I can't get used to her being so much smaller than I am. So flimsy.