In every innocent child there is a demon trying to get out...
Well, I was only three at the time, so you cant blame
me!
I used to eat a lot of sweets when I was little. It was a pacifier for a child whose mother was seriously ill with TB and who didnt like being left to the care of random neighbours when her father was at work. And who had already with her sister had been put in a childrens home - run by nuns, (thank you Sister Whoever for the home-made BunnyRabbit, who lasted me through many crises for about eleven years) for several months before she was one, because of the seriousness of the occasions.
And I cant be blamed for the neighbour buying me more sweets than I remember on that day when, around the same age, I had to be stopped from screaming the place down after I knocked a wasps nest out of a tree and they didnt like it. Apparently. That was my sister's fault. She started it. She was a tomboy, and there was this orchard in the field behind our house. Owned by Farmer Brown. And one day she said 'Lets go and nick apples from Farmer Brown's apple trees.' So we went. But she, who has always been good at ball skills, came second in all-Essex schoolgirls tennis once, had no problem. Found stick, aimed, hit, down came apples. My turn. I didnt get many goes. Find stick. I am only three or four at this stage...... potter potter do you like my nice little yellow dress. Short sleeved, possibly a little puffed...... nice and short for hot summer sunny days.... loved by the wasps for target practice when their home crashed to the ground. So much prime white flesh to attack.... I am told I screamed a lot. I am not sure. That bit I dont remember. But the sound of a wasp close by in a room can still get to me. Anyway... the bit I remember is the old pushchair, a sort of maroon colour, and being hurriedly shoved into it and down to Mrs Cat's the sweet shop lady and being bought everything they could lay their hands on to shut me up. (They didnt take you to the hospital in those days for such a minor thing as wasp stings.)
So I had some tooth problems when I was little. And my mother, freshly back from stays in the hospital, took me to the dentist. I can see it now. The big waiting room with high ceilings and a big mirror with elaborate frame over the mantlepiece. And the fat china dog as ornament on it. So many tiny cracks it had - I wonder why they kept it? (Passing thought - a house like that, then, the dentist must have been rich too - see earlier blog by Stephenterry. Is this a common dentist thing??!!)
Waiting over, in we went, my dear mother and I.
I remember the dentist. Bloke in white coat, thick dark hair, thick dark hair lying on his golden arms, thick dark hair down his wrists, thick dark hair on his fingers..... and thick dark hair on the roof of my mouth when he put his finger in my mouth....... uuuuuuurrrrrrrrgggggggghhhhhhhhh..... ghastly, frightening, terrifying sensation for a twee little three year old, probably still in her little yellow dress, worse than any scary movie image (apart from one involving wasps) than I have ever encountered. So I bit him. And my mum told me off. But I can still see the wuss huddled at the sink, with his nurse standing over him, running his finger under the tap to take the pain away...
Moral of the story - I hate dentists, and I hate wasps. And I used to love it when my older brother used to catch a wasp and burn it in the gas flame....
Mockingbird may be apparently friendly, Mockingbird may look outwardly respectable, theoretically mature, certainly maternal, possiblyeven at times a wise old story teller, but definitely never one to be messed with. She has hidden depths....
I used to eat a lot of sweets when I was little. It was a pacifier for a child whose mother was seriously ill with TB and who didnt like being left to the care of random neighbours when her father was at work. And who had already with her sister had been put in a childrens home - run by nuns, (thank you Sister Whoever for the home-made BunnyRabbit, who lasted me through many crises for about eleven years) for several months before she was one, because of the seriousness of the occasions.
And I cant be blamed for the neighbour buying me more sweets than I remember on that day when, around the same age, I had to be stopped from screaming the place down after I knocked a wasps nest out of a tree and they didnt like it. Apparently. That was my sister's fault. She started it. She was a tomboy, and there was this orchard in the field behind our house. Owned by Farmer Brown. And one day she said 'Lets go and nick apples from Farmer Brown's apple trees.' So we went. But she, who has always been good at ball skills, came second in all-Essex schoolgirls tennis once, had no problem. Found stick, aimed, hit, down came apples. My turn. I didnt get many goes. Find stick. I am only three or four at this stage...... potter potter do you like my nice little yellow dress. Short sleeved, possibly a little puffed...... nice and short for hot summer sunny days.... loved by the wasps for target practice when their home crashed to the ground. So much prime white flesh to attack.... I am told I screamed a lot. I am not sure. That bit I dont remember. But the sound of a wasp close by in a room can still get to me. Anyway... the bit I remember is the old pushchair, a sort of maroon colour, and being hurriedly shoved into it and down to Mrs Cat's the sweet shop lady and being bought everything they could lay their hands on to shut me up. (They didnt take you to the hospital in those days for such a minor thing as wasp stings.)
So I had some tooth problems when I was little. And my mother, freshly back from stays in the hospital, took me to the dentist. I can see it now. The big waiting room with high ceilings and a big mirror with elaborate frame over the mantlepiece. And the fat china dog as ornament on it. So many tiny cracks it had - I wonder why they kept it? (Passing thought - a house like that, then, the dentist must have been rich too - see earlier blog by Stephenterry. Is this a common dentist thing??!!)
Waiting over, in we went, my dear mother and I.
I remember the dentist. Bloke in white coat, thick dark hair, thick dark hair lying on his golden arms, thick dark hair down his wrists, thick dark hair on his fingers..... and thick dark hair on the roof of my mouth when he put his finger in my mouth....... uuuuuuurrrrrrrrgggggggghhhhhhhhh..... ghastly, frightening, terrifying sensation for a twee little three year old, probably still in her little yellow dress, worse than any scary movie image (apart from one involving wasps) than I have ever encountered. So I bit him. And my mum told me off. But I can still see the wuss huddled at the sink, with his nurse standing over him, running his finger under the tap to take the pain away...
Moral of the story - I hate dentists, and I hate wasps. And I used to love it when my older brother used to catch a wasp and burn it in the gas flame....
Mockingbird may be apparently friendly, Mockingbird may look outwardly respectable, theoretically mature, certainly maternal, possiblyeven at times a wise old story teller, but definitely never one to be messed with. She has hidden depths....
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