Today
For both parents to be able to continue working after the birth of their children, several things need to fall into place. Your health, ability to hold down a job, the health of the child, reliable childcare are all essential components. In fact, a house of cards, one might think.
In My Day
After Lizzie was born, I called the council for a list of childminders and was given details of one. She didn't live too far away and I went to see her. She seemed a little on the elderly side but otherwise good enough to my inexperienced eyes.
Just before I was ready to return to work I received a letter from this woman. She'd broken her arm severely and couldn't commit to caring for a newborn for at least six weeks. This was a disaster! I called the council again and they gave me details of a local co-ordinator, a very vigorous-sounding woman. "I'm full up", she told me "Although I might squeeze her in for a few days. I know! There's a child-minder I know of who de-registered because her kindness had been abused by previous clients. You sound alright to me - I'll call her and see if she'll change her mind."
In this way we were introduced to the amazing Pat Bird. She was mother to five sons. Shortly before Christmas we tucked Lizzie up in her nice carry-cot and made our way to the Bird's ground floor and basement maisonette in the Lewes Road in Brighton. Pat was a small, bustling woman who, we later discovered, had overcome an abused childhood and created a solid marriage and family. Her three youngest sons were sitting at the table with some friends, making Christmas decorations with an air of disciplined enjoyment that was impressive.
She looked at Lizzie and gave in immediately. "You needn't worry", she said "I won't just leave her in the pram; she'll get taken out to the park and shops and have lots of "talkies" and cuddles." This was reassuring and started a relationship which lasted until we left Brighton three years later. I relied more on Pat's good sense and experience that on my mother's. The whole family offered Lizzie much love; the boys were delighted to have a girl in their midst and she repaid them by rewarding them with her first smiles.
When, during a measles outbreak at the Birds, I used the original childminder for a week and discovered that she did, indeed, leave the baby in the pram all day, I realised what a lucky break her broken arm had been.
Over the years many people have attacked my being a working mother on the grounds of wanting to"have it all". Looking back at this crazy balancing act, I realise that it was more a matter of trying to do it all, and that's a great deal harder.
Sunday, November 30, 2014
Friday, November 28, 2014
Difficile
Today
I read an interesting article the other day about attempts to develop antibody treatments against superbugs, mainly clostridium difficile that threatens so many hospitals. It seems that hospitals, which should be havens of health, harbour more dangers to human life within their walls than any private dwelling.
In My Day
When you're a student, you'll do almost anything to earn some money to tide you over the long vacations. There's a sort of jungle telegraph that tells you about various opportunities. I suppose (because I can't remember how else I knew about this) that this was how I found out about what was probably the most bizarre of the many temporary jobs that I did.
Back in 1967 or thereabouts, one of the large London hospitals (St Thomas's, I think) was plagued with something somewhat larger than a superbug - Pharaoh's ants. These creatures apparently love a bit of nice central heating and their handy habit of continually forming new colonies meant that their spread throughout sprawling Victorian buildings was unstoppable. So, pretty difficile in their own way.
So they called in the pest controllers and I, together with about fifteen students turned up to await instructions. I don't think I knew anything about the ants and probably imagined that they formed marauding hordes that destroyed all in their path. like the African army ants that just leave skeletons behind.
Our job was to lay bait. The bait consisted of tiny parcels of poisoned meat which we taped at (apparently) strategic ant crossroads throughout the hospital. We were given rubber gloves but no kind of protective clothing. And we weren't told what to do if we actually saw any ants. I think that the job lasted several days and by the time we'd finished the hospital floors and corridors all had fetching borders of foil-wrapped meat.
I have no clue whether the treatment stopped the infestation; certainly I wasn't asked back for a second attempt.
Reading up on these creatures I find that they are very hard to eradicate and that just about the only thing that really gets rid of them are bed bugs. Now that is a really interesting choice for hospitals!
I read an interesting article the other day about attempts to develop antibody treatments against superbugs, mainly clostridium difficile that threatens so many hospitals. It seems that hospitals, which should be havens of health, harbour more dangers to human life within their walls than any private dwelling.
In My Day
When you're a student, you'll do almost anything to earn some money to tide you over the long vacations. There's a sort of jungle telegraph that tells you about various opportunities. I suppose (because I can't remember how else I knew about this) that this was how I found out about what was probably the most bizarre of the many temporary jobs that I did.
Back in 1967 or thereabouts, one of the large London hospitals (St Thomas's, I think) was plagued with something somewhat larger than a superbug - Pharaoh's ants. These creatures apparently love a bit of nice central heating and their handy habit of continually forming new colonies meant that their spread throughout sprawling Victorian buildings was unstoppable. So, pretty difficile in their own way.
So they called in the pest controllers and I, together with about fifteen students turned up to await instructions. I don't think I knew anything about the ants and probably imagined that they formed marauding hordes that destroyed all in their path. like the African army ants that just leave skeletons behind.Our job was to lay bait. The bait consisted of tiny parcels of poisoned meat which we taped at (apparently) strategic ant crossroads throughout the hospital. We were given rubber gloves but no kind of protective clothing. And we weren't told what to do if we actually saw any ants. I think that the job lasted several days and by the time we'd finished the hospital floors and corridors all had fetching borders of foil-wrapped meat.
I have no clue whether the treatment stopped the infestation; certainly I wasn't asked back for a second attempt.
Reading up on these creatures I find that they are very hard to eradicate and that just about the only thing that really gets rid of them are bed bugs. Now that is a really interesting choice for hospitals!
Tuesday, November 25, 2014
Nine Lessons
Today
Although Advent Sunday has yet to arrive, Christmassy feelings are all around. Last week a contingent of my choir went to the local outlet shopping centre to usher in the switching on of the Christmas lights with a selection of carols.
Although the crowd was invited by the presenters to join in with the singing, they were reticent as English crowds often are. And maybe they didn't know the carols. Later, when we were singing around the shopping village small children absolutely loved to hear us and clapped with enthusiasm.
It's a shame that so many lose that instinct for music as they grow older.
In My Day
As earlier blogs have described I love to sing and join in whenever I can. When I was at Selhurst Grammar School for Girls, back in the '60s I was no different. We had a daily assembly at which traditional hymns were sung and I definitely had my favourites.
Each Christmas we would give a carol service which was based on the "Nine Lessons" service popularised by King's College, Cambridge. Our stately headmistress, Miss Harley-Mason would introduce it and say a short prayer.
Then we launched into the service. I think I loved every bit of it. I was usually picked to deliver one of the "lessons" as I had a clear speaking voice. The choir would lead the audience in all the popular carols. How lustily I sang the descants vain, as always, of my ability to pitch the high notes!
When I reached the fifth form and joined the madrigal group I was introduced to a wider range of Christmas carols and songs "A Virgin Most Pure" "Masters in the Hall" and so on. I can still sing most of them by heart.
There was a move to modernise hymn and carol tunes during the '60s and '70s, not always successfully (there's a very nasty modern version of "Away in a Manger). Also, there was also a move away from routine Christian-based assemblies in schools (with very laudable reasons) which has meant that generations after mine do not have a solid base of communally-known hymns and songs.
I don't know whether we are the poorer for this, but, religious beliefs aside, it must be said that Christianity has produced some very good tunes.
Although Advent Sunday has yet to arrive, Christmassy feelings are all around. Last week a contingent of my choir went to the local outlet shopping centre to usher in the switching on of the Christmas lights with a selection of carols.Although the crowd was invited by the presenters to join in with the singing, they were reticent as English crowds often are. And maybe they didn't know the carols. Later, when we were singing around the shopping village small children absolutely loved to hear us and clapped with enthusiasm.
It's a shame that so many lose that instinct for music as they grow older.
In My Day
As earlier blogs have described I love to sing and join in whenever I can. When I was at Selhurst Grammar School for Girls, back in the '60s I was no different. We had a daily assembly at which traditional hymns were sung and I definitely had my favourites.
Each Christmas we would give a carol service which was based on the "Nine Lessons" service popularised by King's College, Cambridge. Our stately headmistress, Miss Harley-Mason would introduce it and say a short prayer.
Then we launched into the service. I think I loved every bit of it. I was usually picked to deliver one of the "lessons" as I had a clear speaking voice. The choir would lead the audience in all the popular carols. How lustily I sang the descants vain, as always, of my ability to pitch the high notes!
When I reached the fifth form and joined the madrigal group I was introduced to a wider range of Christmas carols and songs "A Virgin Most Pure" "Masters in the Hall" and so on. I can still sing most of them by heart.
There was a move to modernise hymn and carol tunes during the '60s and '70s, not always successfully (there's a very nasty modern version of "Away in a Manger). Also, there was also a move away from routine Christian-based assemblies in schools (with very laudable reasons) which has meant that generations after mine do not have a solid base of communally-known hymns and songs.
I don't know whether we are the poorer for this, but, religious beliefs aside, it must be said that Christianity has produced some very good tunes.
Tuesday, November 11, 2014
Naked Threat
Today
On Facebook today my niece said, without much hope: "Maybe one day I'll leave the house on time in the morning". This triggered comments along the lines of "maybe when the kids are all grown up etc.."
In My Day
Even though I had the blessing of Flexi-time when I worked for the Inland Revenue, there was still pressure to leave on time. There were trains to catch, school buses that didn't wait and the start of the school day to consider.
When the girls were very small and therefore portable, this was fairly easy as the only person that had to be organised was me.
Once both girls were at school the whole thing became more complicated. When we lived at Montfort Close, school was only a two-minute walk away, but this compounded the problem along the lines of the fact that it's the people who live closest to a location or event who arrive late.
I tried to get breakfast into the girls while nagging them to get dressed, washed and their hair into some semblance of tidiness. Becky's hair needed plaiting to keep it out of the way. Maybe it was because she was older or because she didn't much like school, but Lizzie was by far the harder to heave out of bed.
After I'd persuaded the more compliant Becky to come down for a slice of toast and hairbrushing, I would still be shrieking up the stairs at Lizzie to get up. At some point and matching me shriek for shriek, the half-undressed Lizzie would appear for her slice of toast. By this time it would be about ten minutes to school start time. I would point out in no uncertain terms the situation. Sometimes this applied to both girls as Becky became absorbed in playing with her growing collection of My Little Ponies and forgot the time.
I'd become more and more irritated; not only were the girls going to be late again, I was going to miss my train and have to wait half an hour for the next. Even with flexi-time a late start meant a late finish.
On many occasions the last card was played. "If you are not down here, dressed and ready in two minutes," I'd yell "I'm taking you to school as you are, even if you're naked!" The girls respected me as a mother who didn't utter idle threats so they didn't dare test me on this one. They'd scramble downstairs in the nick of time and we scrape to where we had to be.
Someone once asked me if I would've carried out my threat. "I don't know," I replied "I guess I'd have had to"
This conjures up a horrible picture of me dragging two semi-naked, screaming children up Westham High Street in the rush hour and I'm sincerely glad that the girls never pushed me that far!
So keep on trying. Phil, you know now what you have to do!
On Facebook today my niece said, without much hope: "Maybe one day I'll leave the house on time in the morning". This triggered comments along the lines of "maybe when the kids are all grown up etc.."
In My Day
Even though I had the blessing of Flexi-time when I worked for the Inland Revenue, there was still pressure to leave on time. There were trains to catch, school buses that didn't wait and the start of the school day to consider.
When the girls were very small and therefore portable, this was fairly easy as the only person that had to be organised was me.
Once both girls were at school the whole thing became more complicated. When we lived at Montfort Close, school was only a two-minute walk away, but this compounded the problem along the lines of the fact that it's the people who live closest to a location or event who arrive late.
I tried to get breakfast into the girls while nagging them to get dressed, washed and their hair into some semblance of tidiness. Becky's hair needed plaiting to keep it out of the way. Maybe it was because she was older or because she didn't much like school, but Lizzie was by far the harder to heave out of bed.
After I'd persuaded the more compliant Becky to come down for a slice of toast and hairbrushing, I would still be shrieking up the stairs at Lizzie to get up. At some point and matching me shriek for shriek, the half-undressed Lizzie would appear for her slice of toast. By this time it would be about ten minutes to school start time. I would point out in no uncertain terms the situation. Sometimes this applied to both girls as Becky became absorbed in playing with her growing collection of My Little Ponies and forgot the time.
I'd become more and more irritated; not only were the girls going to be late again, I was going to miss my train and have to wait half an hour for the next. Even with flexi-time a late start meant a late finish.
On many occasions the last card was played. "If you are not down here, dressed and ready in two minutes," I'd yell "I'm taking you to school as you are, even if you're naked!" The girls respected me as a mother who didn't utter idle threats so they didn't dare test me on this one. They'd scramble downstairs in the nick of time and we scrape to where we had to be.
Someone once asked me if I would've carried out my threat. "I don't know," I replied "I guess I'd have had to"
This conjures up a horrible picture of me dragging two semi-naked, screaming children up Westham High Street in the rush hour and I'm sincerely glad that the girls never pushed me that far!
So keep on trying. Phil, you know now what you have to do!
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