A little back story first, for context: I’m the only child from my father’s second marriage. His first wife died unexpectedly in 1952 aged 35, leaving him with two young boys aged 11 & 7. He married my mother in spring 1954 and I came along September the next year, when he was 43 and mum was 32 (just – her birthday is the day before mine !). The thing is, all though my childhood I can never recall my half brothers ever living with us, other than maybe a week or two when Colin was home on army leave. The older, John, I don’t recall at all other than a hospital visit when he’d had a motorcycle accident. I have this vague notion that they lived with one or other set of grandparents…
Thus, although I had half-brothers, I was in all real terms an only child and it’s shaped me in many ways, almost all of the good. I’ve always been my own best company and made my own entertainment (at least until the internet dropped into my lap in 1998) and I’ve been told more than once that I was mature for my age. Well… maybe. Traditionally, only children are spoilt, to a greater or lesser degree: I don’t think I was actually spoiled as such, but I was certainly indulged more than most. Probably my greatest failing was that I wasn’t big on sharing – because I didn’t have to – and that I could at times become self-absorbed to an alarming degree. My parents, as far as I can recall, treated me as a small adult and not a child… that is until I was either outstandingly naughty or equally stupid. I don’t ever recall my parents hitting me in any way, however great the provocation, but my mother told me, much later, that when I was about two I pushed her beyond endurance and she threw me up the stairs, which is why I still have a small scar between my eyebrows to this day. My father’s silences were far more scary: if he wasn’t speaking to me, I knew I’d really screwed up.
I didn’t realse it until much later, but my childhood was close to idyllic: of course there were the usual minor drama, and a few major ones, but by and large it was plain (solo) sailing. I had all I really wanted in the house – books, TV, radio – and I knew I had the unconditional love of my parents, which was the most important thing of all. I had security. Would I have turned out differently with brothers or sisters ? Almost certainly and, I think, probably not for the better. Yes, I’d have learned the virtues of sharing and enjoyed a sibling bond, but… I don’t know. I don’t know. I think that, on the whole, things were better being the only child. I don’t feel I’ve turned out too badly… but then, of course I would, wouldn’t I ?
