Innocent in Ealing
Beginnings
One afternoon, in a house near Ealing Green, I was waiting to be born, that is, to be pitched into the enigmatic time-trap that is the lot of everything living.
Ealing Green, shadowed by great tall trees, has excited certain individuals to produce notable explanations of the enigma. These were however sufficiently in conflict with each other to ensure its remaining an enigma. Local public schoolboy John Henry Newman grew up to teach that man's only hope lay in the service of the one providential God, and was made a cardinal. Thomas Henry Huxley, from the same school, grew up to see the human race as merely evolved from worms and fish via ape-like creatures. For him, man's salvation lay solely in the exercise of his own intellect.
I knew nothing of any of that at the time of my birth. I had been formed naturally inside my mother, living in a warm bath with full catering facilities laid on. Now that it was time for me to be expelled, I understand a midwife was having trouble in getting me out. She was determined and eventually effected my exit, assaulting my naked person until I yelled. I heard there was relief all round. My mother, whose physical endowment, I would learn, led her to the conviction that giving birth was not the sort of thing any lady should undergo, did express astonishment on seeing just what had resulted from nine months of discomfort. She found the noise I made 'disturbing', I was told, but this was just down to my being a boy and not a girl as was first thought. They also appeared to think I was a balloon for they stuck the nozzle of a peculiar bottle into my mouth, which had the effect of blowing me up so hard I deflated immediately in a very rude manner. The reason was that no human milk being available, I had been given the sort made by cows for their calves. Babies had grown fat on this for time out of mind, but it did not suit me. Obviously, I was going to be 'difficult.'
Nature provides new-born babies with a time-space before conscious awareness sets in; before they become 'knowing' as it is said. During that time, I imagine I was goo-gooed by people one minute and berated the next for causing disturbed nights and sticky messes. I had not been programmed to be a 'good' baby, 'giving no trouble.'
When awareness first dawned on me, it was to find myself sitting on a shiny black cloth laid out on a landing upstairs with only upright wooden posts to look at. On the other side of the posts was the murky stair-well where now and then a face appeared, looking at me. If I saw it I yelled and it disappeared immediately. If I kept on yelling for long enough on the other hand, I was picked up and taken out into the garden to be put in an open-topped box on wheels with hooks and straps on me to keep me in it. At least there I could see birds flying about and what the dog did. He was a slim, dark brown sort of dog called 'Bill' or 'Billyums', who came out of the scullery, sniffed round the garden, then, grinning with white teeth, jumped the high back fence in a tangle of long legs and tail to go on his adventures. When he came back he often smelled awful because he had 'rolled in something.' He was told off and chained up but he always did it again. I too often smelled awful, was cleaned and strapped back in the pram. It was then I learned my first words. My mother usually said she 'had a lot to do' and what I and the dog did 'stopped her from getting on.' Neither of us knew what she was talking about. Actually, when the dog had gone over the fence I used to start yelling because, I suppose, I wished I could go with him. The lady next door used to look over her wall and say; "What is the matter with him?" I could not tell them, of course. It was put down to my failing to be like other babies.
Came a day when I was dressed in a little suit, little shoes were put on my feet and I was set to walk in the garden with a toy wooden horse on wheels to help me along. They pointed a small black box at me and were smiling, the dog wagging his tail. It looked as though I had done something right.
That did not result in my being able to jump over the wall with Bill, my ability to walk was very limited. My mother allowed me periods in the garden on my feet on condition I did not 'touch her plants.' A terrible fate would overtake me if I did. In fact, after seeing a cat come in the garden when Bill was not there and scratch up some dirt, I whacked a plant with a stick to punish it for getting more attention than me. My mother did think a cat had done it and said she would put pepper down. I was sufficiently knowing to feel I was guilty of deception; I experienced my first moral dilemma.
One day my mother fussed especially on dressing me in the morning. Then she took me right out of the house and into a huge box on wheels with seats inside. It moved off and went on and on down endless streets and I felt sick. Eventually the streets ended and a leafy part appeared, where we got out. My mother walked down a quiet avenue until we came to a church. Along past the church was a lane and she made for this. As we came in sight of some cottages in a row my mother stopped suddenly and declared: “Oh, all that terrible work!” I always remembered what my mother said. All the same, we went up to one of the cottages and she knocked on the door. It was opened and we climbed up some steep stairs to a room where a lady was in bed, sitting up. The bed was covered with a colourful patchwork quilt. Saying “This is your great-grandmother who was born in Dickens’ time,” my mother presented me to the lady in bed, but I had a fit of shyness and hid my face in the patchwork quilt. They all laughed, who were sitting in the room. It was all very well for them; I had no idea what a great-grandmother was or about ‘Dickens’ times.’ The only time I knew about was the 'now.' Nonetheless, I would live to wish I could have talked with that great-grandmother who was born in 1842.
This extract © Peter Maggs 2022
Beginnings
One afternoon, in a house near Ealing Green, I was waiting to be born, that is, to be pitched into the enigmatic time-trap that is the lot of everything living.
Ealing Green, shadowed by great tall trees, has excited certain individuals to produce notable explanations of the enigma. These were however sufficiently in conflict with each other to ensure its remaining an enigma. Local public schoolboy John Henry Newman grew up to teach that man's only hope lay in the service of the one providential God, and was made a cardinal. Thomas Henry Huxley, from the same school, grew up to see the human race as merely evolved from worms and fish via ape-like creatures. For him, man's salvation lay solely in the exercise of his own intellect.
I knew nothing of any of that at the time of my birth. I had been formed naturally inside my mother, living in a warm bath with full catering facilities laid on. Now that it was time for me to be expelled, I understand a midwife was having trouble in getting me out. She was determined and eventually effected my exit, assaulting my naked person until I yelled. I heard there was relief all round. My mother, whose physical endowment, I would learn, led her to the conviction that giving birth was not the sort of thing any lady should undergo, did express astonishment on seeing just what had resulted from nine months of discomfort. She found the noise I made 'disturbing', I was told, but this was just down to my being a boy and not a girl as was first thought. They also appeared to think I was a balloon for they stuck the nozzle of a peculiar bottle into my mouth, which had the effect of blowing me up so hard I deflated immediately in a very rude manner. The reason was that no human milk being available, I had been given the sort made by cows for their calves. Babies had grown fat on this for time out of mind, but it did not suit me. Obviously, I was going to be 'difficult.'
Nature provides new-born babies with a time-space before conscious awareness sets in; before they become 'knowing' as it is said. During that time, I imagine I was goo-gooed by people one minute and berated the next for causing disturbed nights and sticky messes. I had not been programmed to be a 'good' baby, 'giving no trouble.'
When awareness first dawned on me, it was to find myself sitting on a shiny black cloth laid out on a landing upstairs with only upright wooden posts to look at. On the other side of the posts was the murky stair-well where now and then a face appeared, looking at me. If I saw it I yelled and it disappeared immediately. If I kept on yelling for long enough on the other hand, I was picked up and taken out into the garden to be put in an open-topped box on wheels with hooks and straps on me to keep me in it. At least there I could see birds flying about and what the dog did. He was a slim, dark brown sort of dog called 'Bill' or 'Billyums', who came out of the scullery, sniffed round the garden, then, grinning with white teeth, jumped the high back fence in a tangle of long legs and tail to go on his adventures. When he came back he often smelled awful because he had 'rolled in something.' He was told off and chained up but he always did it again. I too often smelled awful, was cleaned and strapped back in the pram. It was then I learned my first words. My mother usually said she 'had a lot to do' and what I and the dog did 'stopped her from getting on.' Neither of us knew what she was talking about. Actually, when the dog had gone over the fence I used to start yelling because, I suppose, I wished I could go with him. The lady next door used to look over her wall and say; "What is the matter with him?" I could not tell them, of course. It was put down to my failing to be like other babies.
Came a day when I was dressed in a little suit, little shoes were put on my feet and I was set to walk in the garden with a toy wooden horse on wheels to help me along. They pointed a small black box at me and were smiling, the dog wagging his tail. It looked as though I had done something right.
That did not result in my being able to jump over the wall with Bill, my ability to walk was very limited. My mother allowed me periods in the garden on my feet on condition I did not 'touch her plants.' A terrible fate would overtake me if I did. In fact, after seeing a cat come in the garden when Bill was not there and scratch up some dirt, I whacked a plant with a stick to punish it for getting more attention than me. My mother did think a cat had done it and said she would put pepper down. I was sufficiently knowing to feel I was guilty of deception; I experienced my first moral dilemma.
One day my mother fussed especially on dressing me in the morning. Then she took me right out of the house and into a huge box on wheels with seats inside. It moved off and went on and on down endless streets and I felt sick. Eventually the streets ended and a leafy part appeared, where we got out. My mother walked down a quiet avenue until we came to a church. Along past the church was a lane and she made for this. As we came in sight of some cottages in a row my mother stopped suddenly and declared: “Oh, all that terrible work!” I always remembered what my mother said. All the same, we went up to one of the cottages and she knocked on the door. It was opened and we climbed up some steep stairs to a room where a lady was in bed, sitting up. The bed was covered with a colourful patchwork quilt. Saying “This is your great-grandmother who was born in Dickens’ time,” my mother presented me to the lady in bed, but I had a fit of shyness and hid my face in the patchwork quilt. They all laughed, who were sitting in the room. It was all very well for them; I had no idea what a great-grandmother was or about ‘Dickens’ times.’ The only time I knew about was the 'now.' Nonetheless, I would live to wish I could have talked with that great-grandmother who was born in 1842.
This extract © Peter Maggs 2022