Risky

Today

This morning, on our walk up the lane, our discussion was triggered by the phone-hacking scandal, currently in progress. This led us to the legitimacy of investigative journalism. I mentioned the range of "facts" uncovered by such journalism in the Madelaine McCann disappearance.

I commented on the layout of the holiday resort where the McCanns were staying and the surprisingly large distance between the restaurant and the apartment where the girls were sleeping. "It's easy for us to judge," said Paul "but we took many risks when the girls were small and are only vindicated by the fact that they are still here and very much grown up."

In My Day

We chose the house in Rowan Avenue, back in 1975, partly because our best friends were buying the other side of the semi, so to speak. The house, while not jerry-built, had fairly thin walls and it was easy to hear noises from the other side of the wall.

In those days we were far too poor to afford baby-sitters on a regular basis but wanted to spend time with our friends. "Well", I reasoned "If we can hear noises, we can hear baby-noises. And next door is only thirty seconds away." So we often popped next door where rowdy games of Nap and endless cups of instant coffee made up the bulk of our entertainments.

We took it in turns to pop next door about every twenty minutes to half hour to check on the girls and make sure they were OK.

On one occasion, during the period that Beatrice was living with us, it was Beatrice's turn to "pop" next door. Off she went. Ten minutes, twenty minutes went by; no Beatrice. Just as I began to wonder what might be the matter, she returned, looking frazzled. She explained why this was so.

"I checked Lizzie and she was fast asleep and fine", she said. "Then I went into Becky's room. The bedding was on the floor but no sign of Becky." In a panic Beatrice had gone from room to room. No Becky. Windows and doors were secured and there was no sign of any problems. Becky was a well-known escapologist and Beatrice started to fear the worst. How could she come back and face me with the news that Becky had disappeared and might have been abducted or might be wandering off in the dark towards the main road?

Slowly she went back to the room and absently gathered up the tumbled bed clothes. And there was Becky, still fast asleep, half under the bed. She had clearly fallen out of bed, still sleeping, taking the bedclothes with her.

Laughing and crying, Beatrice told us what had happened. We laughed too and didn't really face up to the implications of our actions.

Little Maddie, whatever happened to you, never mind if anyone was a little careless, I can't imagine what you must have or may be suffering and I wish you well.