Being the youngest was hard, and not just because I was the littlest - I had had lung problems when I was born, and ended up in an incubator for a while. Mum had smoked and drunk heavily whilst pregnant, and I suffered for it. For the first fifteen years of my life, I had at least one bout of bronchitis (always on my birthday) sometimes more, and when I was really unlucky, bouts of bronchial pneumonia that almost killed me - twice. Once, when I was six, and put me in hospital, and again when I was nine, when I stopped breathing.
My poor immune system was a bit battered - I even had to go through the chicken pox twice! It was lucky that I loved reading (not sure I’ve mentioned that) as it helped to pass the time. At first, I thought I missed out on fun activities because I had been ill, however, over time, it seemed to be for other reasons...
I watched as my brothers and sister were allowed to go swimming every Saturday. I watched as my brothers attended weekly karate lessons, and L attended weekly horse riding lessons whilst I stayed home. I begged to be allowed to go to Girl Guides or Brownies, and the answer was always no - weird, to say the least!
So, although I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere other than school and home, I did enjoy being in school - my sister and I attended a private girls school, and I attended from 1977 to 1987. The Kindergarten room was a little hut at the bottom of the garden, and I loved it. The reading was so much fun, although I struggled with learning to write, as I was ambidextrous at this age.
It vexed my Kindergarten teacher (Mrs. W) greatly, as I kept swapping hands to write, which slowed my progress. It was only when my Dad told me to pick one, and stick with it, that I chose to use my left hand, not realising how lucky I was that I hadn’t been under a teacher who would have forcibly tied my left arm down to make me write with my right arm.
I had attended nursery near to the school that my brothers and sister attended, which was a Catholic school. One day, my sister came home with battered and swollen fingers, as a Nun had beaten her with a school ruler. My father was furious, and my mother eventually agreed to move the children away from a Catholic education. The boys were put into a private boys school, and my sister and I into a private girl’s school.
