Fig.1 me, bis sis, and big brother.
I remember the shorts and the wellingtons. I loved it when I stepped in a puddle so deep and the water came over the top. I had a habit of not wearing underpants which meant that dangling from a tree or turning backward somersaults gave a view of my ‘bean sprout.’ It also resulted in my getting my willy caught in the zip on my trousers more than once. I guess I am four and a half. There’s a very similar picture of me dressed in school uniform a few weeks before my fifth birthday: shorts again, tie, blazer and cap with one sock up, and the other one down. I remember that first day at Ascham House as I waited forever to have a go on a huge rocking horse but couldn’t because Nick Craigie was having a turn, also the mashed potato in the school lunch made me sick because this sloppy gunk still had the eyes in it. The response from the teachers: all spinsters of at least 90 years of age was the same ‘eat it up or you won’t get any pudding!’ The gooseberries and custard made me sick too.
I’m recalling all of this as I try to get my head into that of a child for the FutureLearn course ‘Medicine and the arts’ in which we are recalling stories of children in hospital. I had a hospital visit to have stitches put in my willy. It was a short, traumatic visit where I recall at least three people having to hold me down.
Children begin to release what matters to them with paintings and figurines, in song and play.
It matters that it takes a little thought and care to figure out what a drawing, poem, song or dance means to a child. My late mother, who taught art, said that on looking at a piece of work created by a child you should only ever say, ‘tell me about it.’ i.e. never presume that what you are looking at is a ‘house,’ or a ‘dog’ as you may discover that this is a ‘castle and a dragon,’ or a ‘hutch and a mouse,’ or a ‘prison and someone escaping.’ Let them talk it through and elaborate.