‘This is a special book – CHRISTMAS 2025 OUR FAMILY’
‘Old photos, who wants to look at old photos?’
‘I do, they must have lived in this house.’
‘Ha ha, look at what they are wearing.’
‘The garden has changed a lot since then, rather cute, flowers all different colours.’
‘Boring, turn over…. Yuk, what is that?’
‘A baby, what some people used to have instead of cats.’
‘Why?’
‘Not sure, maybe all will be revealed if we keep turning the pages.’
‘Why are they sitting on the ground looking at water?’
‘I’ll do a historic data check…. Sea side, that’s what a beach looks like…’
‘Boring, turn to the next page. That baby thingy seems to be getting bigger.’
‘I’ll data check… it’s growing.’
‘Why?’
‘It doesn’t say, just that they grow quickly.’
‘Keep going, oh it’s standing up, I wouldn’t want one of those things clinging to my leg.’
‘Look, here’s the front of our house, more flowers, lots more people, wonder how many lived here?’
‘Strange clothes, next page… they have put those baby things in boxes with wheels, our cats wouldn’t put up with that. Last page, what on earth is that great big green thing? I’ll data check… a Christmas tree, a tree chopped down and put indoors, no wonder there aren’t any trees left outside.’
‘Right, it’s time we went to check if the cats have finished playing with the humans.’
It’s bad enough still having your parents as your next of kin when you’re my age, but how will I explain my dreadful situation when they arrive at my hospital bed?
I can’t eat or move much yet and it would be lonely in this isolation room if it weren’t for the constant stream of medical experts coming to peer and probe. Beside me is the incubator containing my tiny identical twin, still attached by the faux umbilical cord that formed out of goodness knows which bits of my insides. Apparently he was well tangled up in my viscera, hence the complicated and dangerous surgery, which I may or may not survive.
At least I am not responsible for him now. My parents, his parents are his official guardians, good luck with that Bro. I was an only child, a surprise, an afterthought, not a good surprise as I overheard mother say to aunty and another time telling a friend they came to parenthood ‘too late in the day’.
Anyway, they need to come into the hospital for a medical, moral and legal discussion about what should happen to Little Bro. Oh no, here they are, what am I going to say, I thought my team would be with them.
‘Oh my God what happened, not that wretched motorbike of yours?’
‘No Mother, I have never had an accident and it’s a moped not a motorbike.’
‘That’s a relief, so what did happen?’
‘There is no easy way to say this. I had a parasitic conjoined twin inside me for years, well all of my life and now he’s in that incubator.’
I pressed the emergency button, my father had fainted when he looked in the Perspex case. Mother had rushed out of the room screaming, causing chaos in the corridor, no doubt staff and visitors alike wondering what was going on. There was even more chaos in my room with the crash team thinking I was the emergency. It must have been in all the confusion that a visitor popped his head round the door and took a few snaps on his phone. That’s how we ended up a social media sensation and headlines on the evening news.
Unfortunately they got the story completely wrong.
BABY USED AS LIVING DONOR TO CURE TERMINALLY ILL MILLIONAIRE
The only positive was that they did not have my name and they could not know Baby Bro’s name, because he had not been given one. That was up to my parents, but they wanted nothing to do with him, especially when it was broached to them at an urgent meeting with the hospital lawyers that the facts should be given to the public to stop the awful speculation that was ruining the hospital’s reputation.
The family court decided they would not be fit parents and it was recommended I should be Bro’s guardian as I was his next of kin.
Baby Bro was now three days old, or the same age as me, opinion was divided. We were still joined, but doctors were worried he was gaining strength and weight, while I was becoming weaker. As Bro could not read or write only I could sign the consent form for the uncertain medical procedure to separate us.
I forced myself to look at him. After all, there was a strong possibility he would not survive. I don’t much like babies anyway, though I always presumed if I had one of my own I might like it. Baby Bro did not look like a baby, he looked just like me only tiny. I was repelled. If he lived, no one knew what would happen, would he grow, did he have a mind? As I grappled with these thoughts he smiled at me. I felt sick, could he read my mind, our mind?
He lived. I was put in a recovery room by myself, a nurse reassured me I could go to the special care unit and see him soon.
Baby Bro was made a ward of court as I was considered not fit to care for him yet. In fact no one was sure how his care should be handled, it was a complex case that must go to the high court. Various groups started gathering outside the hospital, none of them quite sure what they were protesting about.
I was soon fit to leave hospital. I had never felt so well physically, after all, for the first time in my life I was no longer supporting another body. I had been subject to a barrage of tests, my DNA samples given, now I wanted to get on with my life. I was smuggled out of the hospital and returned to my flat, not completely free, I was warned not to leave the local area and advised to keep a low profile, someone had leaked my name.
So here I am, walking down the street, the late afternoon sun behind me, feeling like a normal person. I hope Baby Bro is in good hands, the experts know what they are doing… well there’s nothing I can do until, until what I’m not sure.
Have you ever had that experience when the sun is low in the sky and you think someone is behind you, but it is just the long shadow of a person yards behind. A shadow caught up with me and was beside my shadow on the pavement, identical to my shadow. I turned to look. There was nobody beside me or behind me. I quickened my pace, the shadow kept level alongside my shadow.
She had heard her mother talking to Aunty Lucy, a throwaway remark. They were in the garden, it was her tenth birthday party.
‘Of course poor Arabella has no imagination whatsoever.’
They were watching her younger sister Anastatia organize Arabella’s friends in some kind of fantasy adventure. Anastasia was playing the bold princess while Arabella was supposed to be a peasant girl hiding from the dragon and destined to be eaten.
‘Anastasia’s just like you were at that age’ said Aunty Lucy to Arabella’s mother. ‘We always knew you would be on the stage or become a writer.’
‘Or both’ twittered her mother.
‘I expect Arabella will take after Justin’ said Lucy unconvincingly.
The girls’ father was an artist, successful in several fields from high class book illustrations and theatre designs to proper paintings that people wanted on the walls of their homes.
‘She’s very good with her hands,’ continued Lucy ‘knitting and that little tapestry she made me.’
‘Well she has a logical mind, just following patterns…’
Thirty year old Arabella closed her eyes on the memory, closed her eyes to the television screen, then opened them long enough to press the off button on the remote control. It was Jack, her husband, who had reminded her that her mother and sister were appearing on yet another intellectual arts programme. Her family were always on television or radio, though not often together.
‘Have I missed it?’ Jack came bowling into the room.
‘No, or rather you haven’t missed much.’
She picked up her comforting knitting.
‘Is the baby asleep?’
‘Yes of course.’ Arabella laughed. ‘Just like me apparently, my mother used to say I slept through the night from two months old, always needed my sleep, then it was a shock when they had Anastasia. Mother reassured herself that the sleepless nights were because Anastasia had an overactive brain, highly intelligent.’
‘I am glad we have our ordinary little chap, heaven forbid he should turn out like your sister. I like our serene life and I am lucky to have you both.’
It was true thought Arabella, they were happy in their own little world and would snuggle up with a nice nature programme tonight, then turn over in time for Big Ben and welcome 2025. No wishes or resolutions, just thankful for what they had. Though as the bells chimed she couldn’t help wishing she had a little bit of imagination, just enough to know what it was like. Perhaps she would invent bedroom scenarios for her and Jack, she had read in magazines that couples did that. Or make up stories to tell the baby later on.
The next day they went to the big park for their traditional New Year’s Day walk, the baby safely strapped to Arabella and cosy inside her coat. A young child on a scooter whizzed by and she suddenly had a picture in her mind of the child hurtling off, hitting the bitumen head first and being attacked by the big dog she had just spotted. No sooner had this thought entered her mind than Jack suddenly bolted ahead, telling her to stay put.
A small crowd hid what was happening from Arabella’s view. Then Jack emerged with a firm grip on the dog’s collar. Several worried adults were rushing over, it was hard to tell who belonged to the child and who to the dog, until Jack handed the dog to someone waving a lead. He trotted back to his own family.
‘The poor grandparents couldn’t keep up with her…’
‘.. and she ran into the dog and fell off and seeing the creature lying on the ground revived the dog’s ancient hunting instincts and he went for her throat? And you’re a hero.’ Arabella concluded.
‘Not exactly, the dog was licking her face and she was crying because she hurt her knee.’
On the way home they passed the New Year fairground at the other end of the park. They looked up at the big rides.
‘Be a while before we take our chap on those rides’ said Jack.
‘Thank goodness, imagine if the big wheel got stuck when we were at the top’ said Arabella.
‘I’m sure the council makes sure all the rides are safe.’
‘I still wouldn’t take the chance.’
When they watched the local news that evening the fairground appeared on the screen.
Fire rescue teams were called when the big wheel stopped and could not be started. In view of the below zero temperatures, the difficult decision was taken to bring people down from the top on the fire ladders.
‘Oh I can’ t believe it, just what I imagined happening’ said Arabella.
Arabella was beginning to wonder if she had been granted imagination, was this what it was like, making things happen. She dismissed the thoughts from her mind.
The next day was an outing to the pantomime with Jack’s sister and family. Arabella thought the baby was a bit young, but had been reassured that it was a special calm performance for autistic children like Jack’s nephew or deaf children, or anybody that didn’t like screaming and shouting on stage or off.
‘Sign language, subtitles and miming, the baby will just sleep through it. We’re at the back of the top circle apparently, in case we do have to take the baby out.’
Arabella had not realised just how high up they would be in the top circle.
‘Thank goodness we’re at the back, I wouldn’t like to be in the front row and those steps down are so steep, if you weren’t careful you could go hurtling over.’
As soon as her words were uttered a small child flashed by running and whooping down the steps, ignoring his frantic mother who was yelling at him to stop. There was a collective gasp from others getting settled in their seats. Luckily the child was shorter than the barrier wall and collided with it, but the momentum his mother had picked up propelled her straight over. Any hope of calm had evaporated.
Happy Febmas everyone, how long is it since we were all together? Are you glad to be back in the country Danny, back to civilisation?
Is that what you call it? Thank goodness I renewed my contract.
But I thought…
I don’t know how you live with your conscience, raking in all that money in a repressive regime while their citizens suffer.
Ahhem how was your holiday Lydia?
Remind me not to listen to Charles next time he suggests an adventure holiday. I’ve never been so cold in my life.
What did you expect at base camp darling?
For the money we paid, a lot more than a frozen solid tent.
Some of us can’t even afford a holiday to Bognor, mortgage and buying food…
You’ll be glad in the long run son, your mother and I never had a penny to spend on ourselves.
But you were happy ha ha…
Yes we were, we had fun with you all when you were young and you never went hungry like those poor families on television.
Humm, they just need to get a job and learn to cook proper meals like Mum did.
Not that simple Danny.
Let’s dwell on more cheerful things. Isn’t Jodie’s news wonderful.
What news?
The baby of course.
BABY!
I thought you knew, Danny.
Obviously not. How on earth did that happen? I thought you were with Annya?
I am.
Baby? I thought Jodie was a, you know, is she better now, got herself married?
Oh are you awake Aunty?
I thought you said Aunty Mable had no idea what’s been going on for the last five years.
Ssh, she has moments of lucidity.
Usually at the worst moment.
Annya and I really wanted to have a baby.
Don’t you need a chap for that, or did you get an anonymous donor?
Remember Joseph at school? He’s been wonderful and so thrilled to get the chance to be a father.
At last we get to be grandparents.
Not actually biological grandparents, but it will be just like the real thing.
What do you mean?
We used Annya’ egg, she couldn’t mess around being pregnant with her work.
My Arthur wasn’t up to it, that’s why we didn’t have children.
Oh Aunty that’s sad, did you want them?
Always used to blame the woman in those days, no such thing as low sperm count then. Though in our case Arthur just wasn’t interested in that sort of thing.
Wel, well family secrets coming out. Was he gay?
How should I know, we didn’t talk about that stuff.
Anyway, nothing wrong with my sperm count, but Avril and I have made a conscious decision not to have brats and I can’t think why Jodie would go to all that trouble to have one.
I didn’t expect any support from you Danny, after all, you did break the leg off my baby doll, that’s why I didn’t bother telling you.
You always bring that up, it was an accident.
No it wasn’t, you were always breaking our toys.
And stealing my Lego.
What about you Scot, are you still seeing Kamala, we thought you might have invited her here.
No, yes, I mean yes Kamala and I are an item and no I didn’t invite her as I didn’t want to put her through this. I knew exactly what it would be like.
Karly King was not looking forward to her ninth birthday, too many presents and a big party at the local bowling alley. She didn’t even like bowling and everyone would be watching as she sent the glittering pink junior bowl straight into the gutter.
Everyone was up, she could hear her brothers fighting already and Dad was yelling Breakfast Readeee. Karly wondered what concoction he had come up with today; he was having a vegan phase, ever conscious of the need for new challenges. Her mother was exempt from the vegan menus as she was pregnant.
Breakfast in pyjamas as it was her birthday, new pyjamas chosen to look good in the photos. Her parents had gone completely over the top as usual and the big family kitchen was adorned with number nine balloons and Happy Birthday Girls banners everywhere. Why did she have to share her birthday, how she longed to be an only child. Out of habit she put on her video face and smiled.
‘Last one down as usual Karly, just like when you were born. Happy Birthday Darling, our little miracle.’
The breakfast was quite nice. Karly smiled to herself as she spotted the flattened ‘Happy Earth Breakfast’ delivery box peeking out of the recycling bin.
‘Lovely breakfast Daddy.’
She would not give the game away, everything in her family must appear real and of course HAPPY.
At school other children envied her family, either wanting to be best friends or teasing them mercilessly. Karly only had one real friend, shy little Betty who lived in a pokey flat with her abandoned mother. She loved visiting Betty as she was treated like a normal child and neither mother nor daughter asked her how the rest of her family were. Betty was too scared to go round to Karly’s house and Karly guessed her protective mother would not let her anyway. The rest of the family did not even know Betty existed, everyone assuming Karly was with one of the others if they noticed she wasn’t at home.
At the breakfast table everyone was debating who would do best at the bowling alley. They had all been practising so they would look good on the day. Her sisters were arguing as to who was going to wear which colour to the party. Identical outfits, lurid leggings and jazzy tops with matching patterns, but each a different colour scheme, had been made by their personal designer. If Karly ever tried to complain about the family lifestyle she would be reminded it was their living and how envious other girls were and how Karly would not like being poor.
It was not easy being a sextuplet, especially in the middle of a huge family whose lives had been documented since before the girls were born, with a few changes of television channel along the way. Six Children Plus Six More had been a big hit, with viewers fascinated how parents who already had six children had found themselves expecting sextuplets. Then before interest could wain, twin boys were on the way. The six girls were Mrs Knight’s only caesarean delivery; quintuplets had been expected, but Karly had been found lurking at the back, the tiniest of the bunch and not expected to live, adding gravitas to the series.
Mr and Mrs Knight gazed lovingly at their huge family, they did love all their children, even if they couldn’t remember their names. It was not easy competing with all the other Big Family documentaries, Twenty Two Children and Counting, Twins Every Time, Tripple Tripple Trouble and Conjoined,The Family That Sticks Together. So it seemed natural to keep having more babies and thinking up more domestic dramas. It was unfortunate that the new headmaster at the primary school had banned cameras; rather hypocritical as the production company had given a lot of books, musical instruments and other extra curricular items to the school. But at least the first programme in series ten would have the annual drama of the birthday party, the Hollywood Bowl taken over completely by the family with two guests for each child. Excitement on the lanes would be followed by the ‘Fantastic Feast’ then over to the park for the girls’ birthday surprise, a pony each.
It’s my third birthday tomorrow. I don’t know why I suddenly had to come and stay with Granny or where Mummy and Daddy have gone. Maybe they went to buy my birthday present, maybe they have gone to get my puppy. I really want a puppy like Jacob has, a Doodle puppy. I keep asking, but Mummy and Daddy just smile and ask me if I would like a brother to play with instead. I said no, I would rather have a puppy.
Will they be back in time for my birthday?
Granny’s taking me home. We stopped at the petrol station to buy flowers for Mummy. I don’t know why, it’s not her birthday.
Daddy opens the door with his smiley face on.
‘Guess what Luke, we have a really big surprise for your birthday.’
Hurrah, I’m going to get a puppy, a big puppy like Jacob’s. I rush into the living room. Mummy’s lying on the sofa in her dressing gown, maybe we’re having a pyjama day, but I’ve got my clothes on, Granny never lets me have pyjama days. The puppy must be in the garden.
‘Happy birthday darling, aren’t you going to come and give me a cuddle?
Granny’s peering into a big flowery bag next to the sofa. She has a silly grin on her face.
‘Don’t you want to see your birthday surprise Luke’ says Mummy.
‘Is it a Doodle puppy?’
‘Why don’t you have a look.’
Daddy, Granny and Mummy all have their arms round me, I nearly fall into the bag.
Inside is a blanket, is the puppy wrapped up? There is something pink, a round pink blobby thing. It’s a squidgy face, yuk…
‘It’s your new baby brother.’
WHAT! They said would I like a brother to play with, they didn’t say he would be a baby.
‘Have I got a puppy as well?’
‘No Darling, we’ll all be too busy looking after the baby to have a puppy yet. Perhaps when you’re both big boys.’
‘I am a big boy, you said I would be a big boy when I’m three.’
‘Do you want to help choose his name’ says Daddy.
‘No, he doesn’t need a name yet.’
The squidgy baby is making a noise, ow, my ears. Everyone is laughing except me and making a big fuss as if crying is clever. What is Mummy doing now?
‘Look, Mummy’s giving baby his breakfast.’
What sort of breakfast is that, wouldn’t he rather have Cheerios. I wonder if I’m going to get any other presents, like Lego. I wonder if Jacob would swap. Perhaps his mummy would like a baby and we could have his puppy.
So this was it, what I had always dreaded; this was what it felt like to be paralysed, trapped in a useless body completely at the mercy of others. I wanted to say ‘Well I’ll be off then‘, but I was going nowhere. I could move my head and arms, I could speak, but I was flat on my back and the rest of my body felt like a trussed oven-ready chicken. No amount of concentration could make my leg move or my body lean over. How dreadful for those left totally paralysed or struck down by a stroke; unable to speak, left to listen fully aware while doctors discuss whether you are a vegetable, alive or dead. I tried to cast these dark thoughts from my mind and concentrate on my own predicament. I had such plans for this year, only this morning I had been strolling in the sunshine, but after tonight my life would never be the same.
I breathed slowly, taking it all in; bright lights, murmuring voices, figures in green moving calmly around, equipment with buttons and red numbers. Perhaps I was experiencing the ultimate human nightmare; the figures all wore masks, everything felt unreal – I could be on an alien spaceship. Had I lost minutes, hours, days of my life?
One of the figures was talking to me. ‘Can you feel that?’
‘Feel what?’ I replied, relieved that he sounded human.
He turned to speak to another figure. ‘No sensation in lower body, blood pressure okay.’ He turned back to me. ‘This is Doctor Campbell, we’re ready to proceed, how are you feeling?’
My surroundings closed in on me. A screen went up, there was only my head which the masked face was talking to, my arms which he was poking things into and a machine above me with its bleeping and flashing numbers. I tried to make intelligent replies, hoping to be seen as an individual not a lump of meat strapped to the table.
The murmurs beyond the screen were getting louder and more excited. Another masked face spoke to me ‘Nearly there now.’
There was a general sigh of relief and satisfaction. ‘Here we are, it’s a Boy!’
Read more flash fiction and longer stories of all sorts in SOMEONE SOMEWHERE essential for your coffee break reading, on Kindle or in paperback.
Parents across the world have had a unique experience, an experience that perhaps only parents in refugee camps and war zones would envy. But didn’t parents always home school children in the millennia before it was assumed all children should go to school? How to hunt mammoths, how to plough the fields and scatter, how to count sheep – yan, tan, tethera. But parents of old would not have had to cope with on line learning, nor would they have been trying to teach rebellious teenagers. Modern parents tearing their hair out in a pandemic may well have thought there’s a lot to be said for sending your eight year old out to work as a lonely goatherd or chimney sweep, or your awkward teenager into service at The Big House. It’s not that long ago that children left school at fourteen; my father’s first job was as a telegram boy, he claimed Winston Churchill told him off for whistling in the corridor. I imagine many fourteen year olds would rather have been delivering telegrams than stuck at home with a computer and nagging parents.
OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
It has been a mixed experience, those parents who already home school have been vindicated, so too those families who conveniently set off early in the year to drive a camper van all round their continent or sail around the world. Though sailing may have had its problems if no port let them in the harbour to fetch supplies.
But I have not seen it even mentioned that being a stay at home mum ( or dad ) is to be valued. Stay at home mothers ( or fathers ) have never been valued by any government, not even in the 1950s ( according to my mother ) when governments wanted women to stay at home and give the jobs back to the men after the second world war.
If someone is at home, permanently, it is not a major disaster when a child is sick or the other parent gets stuck at work and it must have been a great advantage when schools were suddenly closed. I totally understand the many reasons why women want or need to go to work and this varies from needing the money ( for food, not to run a second car! ) to keeping a foothold in your career, with all your earnings going to pay nursery fees.
From the children’s point of view they could be passed round like a parcel with no security or attend an excellent nursery a few days a week which they love going to. Nursery care is more convenient than school as it runs all year round and all day, eight till six, with three meals a day. If you have no family nearby and your husband (or wife ) has to work away from home, you may have to give up work when your child goes to school.
But getting back to mothers ( for they are still the ones who mainly have this dilemma ) – I have always thought that most women have not gained much over the decades, they often end up going out to work and still doing all ( lots ) of the housework. And in this country it is emerging that more working mothers than fathers have been dealing with the home schooling. To be fair to the chaps there are various reasons, many mothers work in the sort of jobs, such as retail, that were immediately closed down, so they were at home, or a lot of women work part time to fit in round the children.
But would we stay at home Mums have coped in our time with a pandemic and home schooling? NO! Staying at home for most mothers meant getting OUT of the house, taking your darling toddlers to every club and playground available to get rid of some of their energy and going round to other mums for coffee and gossip to preserve your sanity. Locked up indoors, with babies and toddlers, husband doing shift work and only 6 days off a month, I would not have survived, physically or mentally. So well done to the 2020 mothers of all sorts who are now faced with another five weeks of school holidays; Scottish mothers cheer as school starts early in August for them.
For those couples now expecting a happy event here is my handy guide to help you plan your maternity leave and work decisions.
Everyone has to eat, food has to be cooked. Every home has to be cleaned; babies and toddlers make a mess. Washing has to be done and babies and toddlers create a mountain of washing. Going out to work doesn’t make these jobs go away.
Maternity leave of 9 months to a year will flash by in what seems like one month.
On your child’s second day of nursery they will wake up with a raging temperature and you will have to phone granny – if you are lucky, or you will have to phone work.
On the child’s second week of nursery they ( the nursery, not the baby ) will phone you at work to come and fetch your baby because at nappy changing time there was the slightest hint they might have a stomach upset. Before Covid, stomach bugs were the scariest thing, perhaps with all this new handwashing stomach bugs no longer go around but you never know…
Second month of nursery you are in a meeting, the other parent is away on business and you miss the phone call from nursery to say your child has vomited all over the play area and the other children. When you finally get the message you turn up at nursery feeling very guilty and are told to keep baby at home till he has gone 48 hours without being sick.
There were oohs and ahhs as Liz walked into the office, it was only a few months since she last set foot in the place, but anyone listening to the other girls would have thought they had not seen her for years.
‘Oh, he’s gorgeous, take his hat off so we can see him properly’ said Carol.
‘Can I hold him? Look Lucas, do you like the Christmas decorations?’
‘Must be your family he gets his red hair from… he’s very pale, I thought he would be more sort of coffee coloured.’
‘Well he hasn’t seen any sun yet,’ said Liz defensively ‘besides, Jarrod’s got such a mixed ancestry I expect he had some ginger forebears.’
‘So how’s it been then, does Jarrod change the nappies?’
‘Of course, he’s a fantastic Dad, even gets up to make me a cup of tea in the middle of the night, fetches Lucas from his cot and plants him on my breast so I don’t have to move, then sits and chats so I don’t get bored.’
‘Lucky you, I had to make do with my phone for company during night feeds.’
‘Are you going to take the whole year then?’
‘I’m not sure, Jarrod’s so besotted he reckons he should take time off work when Lucas is on solids, he hates having to leave him to go to work.’
By this time a few of the fellows considered enough minutes had passed to show they weren’t gaga about babies and wandered over.
‘Pity you’re going to miss the office Christmas party,’ said Dave ‘wonder if it will be as wild as last year?’
‘I don’t remember it being wild’ Liz blushed.
‘You were so drunk you probably don’t remember anything.’
‘You’re a fine one to talk, Dave.’
‘I was quite sedate compared with the boss.’
‘No, he was dead sober,’ said Carol ‘at least he stayed till last to make sure everyone left safely, he was going to call a cab for Liz.’
‘So what else has been happening, did John go to head office?’ Liz tried to steer the conversation away from parties and tried to avert her eyes away from the desk that used to be hers. She hadn’t been so drunk she couldn’t remember. Hopefully Mr. O’Brian would stay in his office. It had been a mistake to come, but all the girls had phoned and e-mailed pleading to see the new baby. Liz couldn’t really recall how it had happened. She was gathering her handbag from her desk and he was leaning over to use her phone to call a cab – he did call a cab afterwards, for both of them, made sure she got home safely before he returned to his wife and their lovely children. She knew they were lovely because he had a photo on his desk, two boys and one girl, all with hair of burnished copper.
Last century, in a previous incarnation, I went to mother and toddler groups; no doubt they have to be called something else now, Kids and Karers? We did have one granny, a few child minders and a couple of fathers. It was one of these fathers who brought his video camera along, no one else possessed such equipment. We thought he was showing off and hovering over his poor child. The ethos of the club was to ignore the little ones while indulging in a good gossip. These days he would probably have to have a background check before even being allowed into the church hall, let alone with a video camera. I wonder where that little boy is now, perhaps hot housed into a world leader, his whole life recorded for posterity.
How would we all have fared, how different would our lives have been if we had grown up in the digital world, our pathetic appearance in the school nativity recorded and watched by grandchildren. I never got to be Mary or even an angel; in top infants I was merely the innkeeper’s wife with the line ‘Come this way.’ Would anyone want to see themselves coming last on sports day or dancing round the maypole in junior school? We did not get the ribbons tangled during our school’s centenary celebrations, but whether we looked elegant is another matter.
Our lives did not go completely unrecorded, Dad got a reel to reel tape recorder and secretly recorded Mum and the aunties, nobody could believe how awful their own voice sounded. When we had our school holiday in top juniors, several mothers went along as helpers, not mine thank goodness. One of these ladies had a cine camera, we were all going to be film stars. When it came time for the showing of the film, I did not appear at all.
There are families who have wonderful silent records of every Christmas, cine cameras were around for a long time before being superseded by videos, but most people took only photographs. Now every moment of a life can be recorded instantly, film or photo and broadcast to the world. Granddad on the other side of the world can see the new grandson having his umbilical cord cut. Great grandparents can see pretty in pink little miss precocious doing her first ballet exam at the age of two.
But I feel more than a twinge of regret when I think of all the missed Instagrams I could have taken, pictures shared on Facebook and blogs written of my pre digital life. We have many photo albums, but camera film could not be wasted taking pictures of weird things; night scenes through rain splattered bus windows or the ubiquitous snaps of meals out or in.
Perhaps the more obsessed bloggers would have started much earlier if they had had the opportunity.
Baby Blogger…
Day One; with a bit of help from Mummy and Daddy I am starting this blog to record my whole life. Today was a bit of a milestone as I said my first words… blog, post and WordPress. Of course I know lots more words than that, but my lips and tongue aren’t working properly yet, just one of the challenges of being a baby.
Day Two; I have my first two followers, Mummy and Daddy… Sam the cat isn’t on WordPress so he can’t Like me, but here is a picture of him.
Day Three; We went to Wriggle and Rhyme Story Time at the library, I gave it four out of five stars…
My novel Quarter Acre Block is inspired by my early years.
Times and Tides of a Beachwriter 