my earliest memory
In this photo my brother looks startled, as if he was surprised to be born. As far as I know, the pregnancy lasted the full nine months and the delivery was without complications. I remember going to the hospital, in a taxi, to bring my mother and the new baby home. It was July 1956. I was 2½. A nurse brought the baby wrapped in a long shawl and put him in my arms. I was allowed to hold him for a few seconds. She told me he was my baby. I believed her. I was angry when she took him off me, and gave him back to my mother.
This was the first time I’d been separated from my mother. I remember her leaving. I wanted to stay with my dad in our flat in Windsor Avenue but was taken to my grandparents. Perhaps this was the first time I’d stayed there. My dad would have been excited about the birth of a second child, but worried about my mother, whom he loved deeply.
Babies can look alike, but Stephen is already an individual. There’s an intelligence at work. He’s disconcerted by the camera, unsure of what’s going on. We might be in a photographer’s studio. The white circle forms a halo around his head… an off centre halo. I can’t imagine what it could be. Then the wall is plain and dark, nothing you’d find in any of my family’s homes. So I think he’s been uprooted from his pram and put in this alien cot. He doesn’t look comfortable. He’s gripping his voluminous rompers. Why doesn’t he have a toy? The frilly, flowery bedding doesn’t seem appropriate for a baby either. It would be nylon, as most fabric in the 1950’s was.
I always felt a responsibility for him. Once, when he fell into a paddling pool I jumped in to rescue him. The pool was very shallow, so he was in no real danger, but I felt my parents were too slow to respond. Another time he broke his front teeth in a collision in the dodgem cars. He was always much more daring than me.
Looking back, I can see his experience of family life was very different to mine. There are many photos of me as a baby, being held by different relatives. My arrival in the world was celebrated. My parents were newly married, in a new home, which they owned. The future seemed golden and some of its brightness infused my first months. There are less photos of Stephen as a baby.
I never realised how hard it was for him to be the second child. He was always competitive, wanting to win, but I didn’t understand that he was competing with me.
When I cleared my mother’s house I found those bootees in the back of a drawer in the sideboard.
This was the first time I’d been separated from my mother. I remember her leaving. I wanted to stay with my dad in our flat in Windsor Avenue but was taken to my grandparents. Perhaps this was the first time I’d stayed there. My dad would have been excited about the birth of a second child, but worried about my mother, whom he loved deeply.
Babies can look alike, but Stephen is already an individual. There’s an intelligence at work. He’s disconcerted by the camera, unsure of what’s going on. We might be in a photographer’s studio. The white circle forms a halo around his head… an off centre halo. I can’t imagine what it could be. Then the wall is plain and dark, nothing you’d find in any of my family’s homes. So I think he’s been uprooted from his pram and put in this alien cot. He doesn’t look comfortable. He’s gripping his voluminous rompers. Why doesn’t he have a toy? The frilly, flowery bedding doesn’t seem appropriate for a baby either. It would be nylon, as most fabric in the 1950’s was.
I always felt a responsibility for him. Once, when he fell into a paddling pool I jumped in to rescue him. The pool was very shallow, so he was in no real danger, but I felt my parents were too slow to respond. Another time he broke his front teeth in a collision in the dodgem cars. He was always much more daring than me.
Looking back, I can see his experience of family life was very different to mine. There are many photos of me as a baby, being held by different relatives. My arrival in the world was celebrated. My parents were newly married, in a new home, which they owned. The future seemed golden and some of its brightness infused my first months. There are less photos of Stephen as a baby.
I never realised how hard it was for him to be the second child. He was always competitive, wanting to win, but I didn’t understand that he was competing with me.
When I cleared my mother’s house I found those bootees in the back of a drawer in the sideboard.
Enchanted evenings
In the 1950’s nature wasn’t enough. Every seaside resort wanted some magic to attract visitors. Miniature worlds were one way to provide this. Illuminations another. Combinations of the two were especially potent.
After a day on the beach, and an evening meal, we’d head out again, usually going to a park where illuminated creatures would run up and down tree trunks or jump from one branch to another. These were usually squirrels, rabbits and birds rather than more exotic animals. We’d linger until the sun set, waiting for the illuminations to be seen at their best. Exciting to be out after dark.
In this photo Stephen and I both look enchanted. The original photo is tiny, and I was sure these were fairies, but now I see they are ballerinas. I had a musical jewellery box where a ballerina spun around when you opened the lid. These tutu clad dancers are lively. Their creator has got the lines right. Arms and hands are extended and elegant. You can almost hear the music. I’m looking at my dad, but keeping half an eye on them.
As a child I was afraid of the dark. Here the night welcomed us into its realm. There was still an element of danger, but I wasn’t on the lookout for monsters, only for the next glowing plant or creature. There was usually a route to follow with narrow winding paths and small bridges. We were determined to see everything.
All such magic owed something to Disney. The first Disneyland had opened in California in 1955. Perhaps Disney took some inspiration from these older, less ambitious pleasure parks. The magic was simpler. A bit of wonder at electricity still lingers. Human ingenuity could remake the world and create an enchanted childhood. Here fairyland was never forlorn.
Although they are miniature ballerinas, without wings, I still see them as fairies. My brother looks less convinced. He was more enthused by pirate ships and buried treasure.
action man
My brother was always more adventurous than me.
He lost his front teeth in a collision in the dodgem cars. I think this was in White City, Whitley Bay. It seemed just as terrible as any car accident. I went on the dodgem cars too, but avoided any contact as far as possible. My favourite fairground ride was the horses.
Stephen is happy in his helicopter. He cycled. I didn't.
We did play together, and i'd happily join in games with cars, his toy garage, sailing boats.... I was able to blurr the gender divide. I don't recall him ever playing with my toys... dolls or my beloved miniature garden.
He lost his front teeth in a collision in the dodgem cars. I think this was in White City, Whitley Bay. It seemed just as terrible as any car accident. I went on the dodgem cars too, but avoided any contact as far as possible. My favourite fairground ride was the horses.
Stephen is happy in his helicopter. He cycled. I didn't.
We did play together, and i'd happily join in games with cars, his toy garage, sailing boats.... I was able to blurr the gender divide. I don't recall him ever playing with my toys... dolls or my beloved miniature garden.