None are so blind as those who will not see.

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!

Pram or rubbish dump?

As I've already mentioned, I loved that pram. It was actually blue and seemed larger than life. It was roomy and warm and dark. No, I didn't actually get in it, but I would've if I could've. Not only did it house my dolls, but it also had my whole life in there too. Scraps of paper, incomplete homework assignments, dirty clothes, as well as my 'plate' which was supposed to be in my mouth helping somehow to correct my crooked teeth. Every now and then, actually more regularly than that, specially if something was missing, like a school shoe, Ma used to come storming in and fling everything out on to the parquet floor and yell, 'Now clean it up, how many times have I told you to keep this clean?. There was no answer to that question. It was my pram and as such it shoud have been left alone, my personal property, mine and mine alone. After tidying it all neatly, I don't think it took half an hour before it was being comfortably refilled once more, Aaaah, peace and my pram.

Eina, that's sore

The awful day had dawned and I needed braces...not like the braces of today, I must be honest, but still bad enough to be a form of torture weapon. Actually I am fussing, it was more of a 'plate' a denture made to supposedly push front teeth backwards, or was it back teeth forwards? Who knows? All I know is that it was huge, big, hard, heavy and mine! As soon as I got home from the dentist that very first day, I hauled it out and threw it in my pram. This pram was not like any other pram and will be described later. But the 'plate'lived in it for most of the time I had it, only to be taken out when it was dentist check -up day, and inserted painfully into my mouth once more. He knew, of course he knew, but being a fine and honourable man, he never let on that it was basically doing nothing, as it was never in my mouth! Maybe he didn't want to wrangle with Ma either!

Born 17 months later

My brother, Ian, was born only 17 months after me (July 1949), so I really didn't have enough time to be the 'baby' of the family. My father worked night shifts, as an usher at the local Doornfontein Bioscope and my mother worked all day as a bookkeeper (she was the breadwinner and never let him forget it!).

Don't know when they found the time to make us kids. I was very jealous of Ian, and one day I tossed him out of his pram. I am sure I got a good hiding for that, but can't remember. I do remember the jealousy though, as it surfaced many times in my childhood.