My first years were feted, my every whim sated, I was the golden child for people who had already had to give up a daughter and a grand daughter for adoption.
I was indulged, adored, in a word, spoilt. It is my biggest regret that to this day I didn’t fight harder to go with my father – although the kidnapping rather put paid to that – as I would have had a pony. No doubt the unwanted attentions of my German stepmother would have been harsh. But the house was large, and she other things on her mind. Like opening the wine at 11am. Couldn’t have the elder, snoopy STEPdaughter living round the house then, oh no.
So, my first memory. Sitting under a table, watching my parents argue AGAIN, with the cat hiding next to me, and picking tomato sauce off the lino that my dad had dropped there several days earlier. You can tell I have a vivid imagination, we didn’t have a cat. Not then.
My next memory is of lying under a grand piano, on the carpeted floor of a recording studio somewhere in Cornwall, sucking a very hairy ‘Tune’ off the carpet that some no-mark muso had thankfully dropped. I think we were with the Troggs, or maybe Hermans Hermits. Dad is a bit vague about that. Anyway, they were doing takes and I wasn’t allowed out from under the piano. The next day, as it dawned, all the grown ups stripped their clothes off and ran into the sea naked. Leaving me fully dressed sitting on a rock, watching them, and the Cornish dawn. I was very, VERY hungry.
Those are my first two memories. They are true. This is the third.
I was a tomboy, which was good for my grandfather (the one who disappeared) as he often took me worming at the beach, or to castles where we had mock sword fights and stormed the moat. He could also drive the car with no hands. And that was mind blowing and amazing. Or it was when I was four.
So the first five years were glorious. Which was ill preparation for the next 15, as they were rather less than glorious.
More to follow.
Lucy
8 years ago
