I would like a school that did not tell you off much and when it did tell you off theyd only tell you what youd done wrong and not do it again. They only say your nauty you shouldnt have done it but quite often we don’t know what weve done wrong.
I wold like a school that some times let you writ out work for other children in other schools. I wold like it espesherly becos I get tiyed of having work givern to me to do and I think as i am a child that I now how other children feel and so i can make it eseyer for them and its youshuly only seniers that visit other schools and hospitals and places but we now just as much as seniers and if we cold visit all these places wed now how other children feel a lot more and I think it wold be nice if we cold sugest things for ourselves to do.
Wy cant we have one lesson for each day and coldent we keep our own clay and stuff, and coldent we have classes of speshel things lik modling, music, poims, and dansing of diforent cinds wich we cold chos to do. Id like us to have mor nature lessons out side and id prefer not to keep together as animals don’t come out wen thers lots of people.
Her seven-year-old spelling may have been ‘creative’, but the voice can only have been Kirsty’s – feisty, anti-authority, sympathetic to the needs of others, independent-minded and in love with ‘modling, music, poims, and dansing’.
1967–1968
‘I watch you lie asleep, watch you breathing.’
KIRSTY MACCOLL, ‘TOMORROW NEVER COMES’, 1994
I was no longer able to work full time, but I did take on occasional day or weekend courses. The National Association for Gifted Children wrote to me one day, asking if I might like to take some movement classes for them at weekends. I jumped at the chance and took Kirsty with me.
She seemed to enjoy these trips and participated in the various activities laid on. I hadn’t worked with children before and found them very receptive, enjoying the sessions immensely. There was one youngster who was musically gifted, but was unable to use his imagination in anything other than his music. So in my movement class he floundered, and the other children seemed surprised at his inability to enjoy creating a different world. It later transpired that all his time was spent playing the piano: when required to move along the floor like some strange creature, he said his mother wouldn’t like him to get dirty. He found it very difficult to mix. Kirsty, on the other hand, had no problems mixing and took a serious interest in everything. She also expected very high standards from those in charge.
One weekend course was held at the Yehudi Menuhin School and I was taking another movement class. I had asked the children to move like various creepy crawlies, either real or imaginary, and we would turn it all into a dance. I gave encouragement where necessary to make those imaginative ‘creatures’ come alive. I noticed that Kirsty was standing upright, though everyone else was down on the floor, crawling along. As the session ended, I went up to her and asked what kind of insect or small animal she was. She replied, ‘An elephant’! On the way back I apologised for not giving her more help or attention, but said I felt the other children needed me more. She said she understood that, but I shouldn’t have ignored her completely; she had a point. With only a little help from me, at the next session, the ‘elephant’ turned into an exotic insect along with the others.
It was partly as a result of these classes and of my hearing of the difficulties that some parents had, that I decided to have an independent IQ test for Kirsty. A psychologist was recommended to me and we drove to Essex for our appointment. Kirsty had not had a good night and because of heavy traffic through London we arrived late for the test. The psychologist explained that her fatigue had affected the result and that the assessment represented only a minimal level of her actual reasoning ability. For all that, seven-year-old Kirsty achieved the very high IQ score of 168, which represented a mental age of 11 years and 8 months. Tests vary, of course, but the psychologist said she was the brightest child he had ever tested.
‘This much is certain,’ he said. ‘Kirsty is a charming personality of extremely high intelligence who is unlikely to have all her academic and intellectual needs met by the provision currently made in the ordinary school.’ He also raised an issue that I had been concerned about myself. ‘She needs,’ he continued, ‘especially in view of her extended absence in the past, opportunities to grow in the social and emotional senses as well.’
It was this comment that made me finally decide not to take advantage of a scholarship to Millfield School. Like most parents, I wanted the best for my child and would have felt very sad if she had gone away to board at such an early age. I felt she was too young to leave home and I also heard that the young boarders were expected to care for a variety of animals such as rabbits and gerbils. I was beginning to associate animals with the asthmatic attacks, although Kirsty’s doctors had not yet reached that conclusion since, confusingly, she sometimes had attacks when she was nowhere near an animal.
I felt reassured and justified that what I had been doing over the previous few years to help Kirsty through her illness had been the right approach. Academic studies were not important for the moment: so long as she was interested in something and was free to work at her own pace, she seemed not to suffer any stress. I also wanted to share as much time with her as possible, since her illness had so often robbed her of the friendship and companionship of her contemporaries. I also made a decision that I would never foist my views on her. I would always say what I thought but at the same time try to leave things open for her to form an opinion for herself.
Ewan was politically biased and had strong ideas about music. (According to him, there were only three types of music: folk, classical, and jazz. He hated ‘pop’.) Although I shared some of his views, I would often argue about others. I also felt strongly that children should be able to make up their own minds; after all, with time, they would do so anyway. That was not to say that Kirsty did not share my values, or was unaware of them, and I think she demonstrated this clearly later in life. What was important, though, was that she had come to them through making her own decisions.
In other ways, though, Kirsty was a happy and normal child, taking great pleasure, for example, in a Barbie doll that Joan sent one day from New York, where she and her partner Gerry were then working. The large parcel contained the doll, some Barbie clothes and a Barbie bedroom suite. Kirsty loved changing Barbie’s clothes – though this was the only doll she was ever interested in. Years later, when her own children were little, she used the same doll for the fairy at the top of her Christmas tree. I still put Barbie up there on my own tree now.
Hamish often lost out on my attention, of course, although I tried to do my best for him. One could simply never be sure that Kirsty would have a good day. I had naturally pinned my hopes on the forecast that Kirsty’s asthma would clear up by the time she was seven, but it would be another three years before it at last began to ease. Hamish and I had our own happy times, though. He had made a number of friends who often came over and they were always very nice to Kirsty. It wasn’t long before he had his own special girlfriend. She was very interested in tennis and Hamish, who had never shown any interest in the sport, went with her to Wimbledon to watch the tournament.
Ewan continued to come for lunch every Sunday, for the most part remaining a weekly visitor. Our lifestyles had become very different. While he was happy enough to talk about his own work, he found it difficult to relate to his children on their everyday level and didn’t always understand the seriousness of Kirsty’s condition. He once even suggested – meaning it quite kindly, I’m sure – that I should take the children on a camping holiday. True, he and I had taken Hamish camping as a youngster and enjoyed it – but now? A one-parent family with an asthmatic child? Even with Hamish’s