Forties (part 1)

I was born on Bastille Day in 1942, although I didn’t know that at the time.  I was later constantly reminded of this fact by my mother, Gwyneth, who needed her children to be important in some way.  Much later, she told me – this may have been after she discovered the loosening effects of alcohol – that I hadn’t been particularly noticed as being bright, until Miss Wade, my kindergarten teacher, did.  This came as a surprise to my parents.

In the early 1970s, I was involved in various different ways with three girls who in their various different ways contrived to draw me into the irrational sphere of astrology, which required very precise information about the minute, if not second, that one emerged from one’s mother’s womb, so I asked mummy exactly when I was born. She couldn’t remember.

I do know where, though.  Tuckton Nursing Home.  I can quite clearly picture Tuckton, a kind of nowhere zone between Southbourne and Christchurch, with some useful shops, alternatives to Southbourne Grove – but I don’t remember the Nursing Home.  Today, I have to wonder what one of those was, and how it could have a maternity ward; but this was 1942.

I remember Miss Wade, and where her kindergarten was.  It was on the corner of Paisley Road and Irving Road.  You walked a little way up Watcombe Road, turned right and then you were there.  Those streets (I use the word generically – Bournemouth is famous for being one of the few towns in England not to contain a single named street) were amongst the first things I ever learnt.

Another thing I learnt from Miss Wade was the technique of prevarication.  This came about when I asked her why you had to be married to have a baby.  It was probably when my brother was expected, in 1947; I certainly knew by then that babies came out of their mummy, and was just naturally curious about how this worked.  Miss Wade responded by referring me to Jesus.  That was probably part of the start of my wondering why people seemed unable to give simple answers to even simpler questions, a wondering that has only grown since.  But the few children I’ve known haven’t asked me awkward questions like that, so I’ve yet to be put to that particular test.