I had the most awful twitch by the time I was about 9. I could barely see anything without my eyes giving way to a frantic involuntary contraction, which screwed up my whole face and made me look even more peculiar than I already was. My parents took me to a child Psychologist (which was quite a 'ground breaking'thing to do in the Fifties) as I was extremely nervous by then. Of course I was! I had not only witnessed my brother having an epileptic fit, but was then warned by my mother not to play at school during playtimes ever again, but to watch him all the time. The psychologist admonished my parents for placing this heavy burden on such a young child, and suggested that I was given a plain pair of glasses (sans prescribed lenses) to help me to get over the twitch. And it did work for a time, till a boy in my class told me one day with glee in his voice that they were 'not real, just plain glass'. I was devastated and ran home and threw them in my beloved pram( see 'Pram or rubbish dump?') and never wore them again. They shoud've sent that brat to the Psychologist!
