“British children … are more tested, more punished, more imprisoned, more unhappy and more generally disliked, distrusted, feared and demonised than they are pretty much anywhere else in the developed world.”
Deborah Orr, writing in The Independent, June 2008
Yikes! The grim, bleak picture painted above is one that many of us already suspected was there, and fret about daily. It starkly illustrates that our twenty-first-century children are losing out on one of the most important phases of their lives; a time that sets them up for life; a time that is irreplaceable and invaluable. In short, children are missing out on a proper childhood.
Now then, before we get too depressed, it’s important in any discussion about childhood in times past to be very careful not to mythologise it – to see it through the rose-tinted glow of Time; to imagine it was perfect and lovely and happy and jolly for all children. It wasn’t. Times really were tough for many kids, even fifty years ago. There was real hardship. We may remember our own childhoods as a time of sweet innocence, uninterrupted hours of playing with hand-made toys, cooking with mother, climbing trees and watching Fingermouse, but it wasn’t all wonderful! Things our kids take for granted like hot water on demand, central heating making every room in the house toasty and cupboards full of fresh food whenever they’re hungry were not the norm for many of us growing up.
But children were at least given the chance to be children and to enjoy this childhood beyond their fourth birthday – and that’s what’s missing now. Getting that experience back for our kids is the crux of what we’re going to be seeking to do in this book.
Asking where it has all gone wrong is all very well, but what we really need to ask is, how can we put things right? How do you ensure children have a happy childhood these days? Why has it become so difficult and so complicated? And is there anything simpler from previous generations that we could try to implement in ours?
In a bid to answer these and many other pressing questions of the day I decided to ask Granny, while I still could. I talked to her at length about all of this over a period of a year, while her toe-related illness went through it ups and downs, and it’s these conversations that are recounted in this book. I wasn’t sure what I would get: maybe a few snippets of useful information here and there, a funny story or two about tin baths or halfpenny sweets, or a memory dug up from the depths.
What I actually got outstripped all expectations – Granny’s stories and details taught me so much about the essential elements of child-rearing that all of us could put into practice today, and in doing so, remove much of the stress, worry and hair-tearing that seems increasingly to accompany modern parenting. Of course the world is very different now and I’ve allowed for twenty-four-hour TV, internet chat rooms and fast-food chains in my own tips and advice. But I’m now completely convinced that there is much about raising kids and about family life in general we can and should learn, simply by talking to the oldest generation alive today. They generally offer biscuits and limitless tea while they’re at it, so it’s not such a bad deal really.
I hope some of it proves useful and effective to you and makes your experience of raising your own troublesome brood a good deal simpler and more enjoyable than it was proving before. Who knows – we might even manage to raise a generation of kids who can spell ‘No ASBO for me today, thanks’ properly.
I also hope it makes you think about where you come from, how you, and your parents before you, were raised and how you might try to use some of their wisdom and experience in your own children’s upbringing. It’s best to discard the ‘kids up chimneys, regular beatings with sticks and general misery’ and try to stick to the good, sensible bits instead.
But they’re your kids. You decide.
Liz and her Granny in Scotland, November 2008.
The first day of our holiday! And what a day – the sun has made the unprecedented move of coming out for a whole hour (no, really) and my children have missed it all by their own unprecedented move of sleeping until nine o’clock. Typical. I blame the mountain air.
When I finally turf them out of bed with the cunning promise of hot chocolate – if and only if they manage to get dressed in something moderately presentable without being asked more than six times – it is well and truly time for a morning coffee. And so it is that we make our first trip down the road to Granny’s house.
We have a somewhat perfect set-up here: we’re staying in my parents’ house, and my parents are not. Result. To cap it all, Granny only lives three doors down the road so we can see her as often as we like – without having to stay in her house. The reason this is such a good thing will become very apparent later. You’ve been warned.
By the time we get there, our children have already said their brief hellos and are tearing down to the bottom of the garden. I am so happy to see Granny, and to be back in the place where I spent most of my childhood holidays: falling out of trees, getting lost, terrorising the cats and getting into trouble. A lot. For her part, Granny’s broad smile and sparkly eyes show she is over the moon to see us too (can’t think why – we are nothing but noise and mayhem) but she looks frail, unsteady on her legs, and generally as though life has just dealt her a nasty few months.
‘Well you look great,’ I say, giving her a big hug. ‘I thought you were ill? Are you malingering, or is there really something wrong with you?’
She laughs, and prods her foot with the garden fork she’s holding. Why she has been gardening in her condition I can’t say, but that’s just the way she is. You can’t argue.
‘Oh well, it’s just my silly toe. Means I can’t walk, but you know, I’m fine apart from that. So who’s for coffee?’
Ten minutes later my husband has been discharged, caffeinated beverage in hand, to play with the little people, leaving me alone to have a good natter with Granny.