MISSING!

 

Joanna and Lawrence & Erin and Dana, with Emma Robins.

We had Elisabeth, Robert and William this weekend, and it was very enjoyable, except that William bawled for an hour and a half on being put to bed (most unlike him). Nothing we tried consoled him, until Elisabeth figured out she was playing him ‘the wrong sort of lullaby’. By the miracles of modern technology which is as impenetrable to me as the periodic table (of which I know Nothing) she managed to obtain the ‘right’ lullabies, and glorious silence promptly descended.

I was reminded of an incident with our own children. We took Joanna to Paris when she was less than six months old. As I recall it was a special offer; we went from Scotland on the train. At that time we were not so well travelled so this was a big adventure. It was wintertime, I think November.

At first all was well. She slept in our arms on the train. We negotiated Paris and the Metro with her pushchair. Our hotel had a cot for her. But once in our hotel, we ran into problems. She would not go to sleep and cried and cried. We gave her drinks, changed nappies, sang to her, walked up and down with her, put her in her pram and wheeled her back and forth. Nothing made any difference. We could not understand it – she had never behaved like this before.

The French are not in the least sympathetic to other people’s difficulties if it affects their own comfort, Our neighbours banged on the wall; the management rang us and said, did we know our child was crying (John’s reply was unrepeatable); another guest arrived at our door convinced that the child was abandoned and surprised (but not appeased) to see that I was walking the floor with the baby in my arms. When we went down to breakfast I heard the phrase : ‘le mauvais bebe’ but we assumed our fiercest Make-my-day expression and no-one challenged us directly. We were to return the following day.

It was only when we returned to our own house and the baby’s own bed that I realised what the problem was. Joanna had two white blankets which I had crocheted. I used to place her in her cot and then lay the blankets down on her, saying as I did so, that’s One, and that’s Two. She had become attached to the blanket, which she referred to (when she could talk) as her One-y. We had not realised that her One-y was necessary for her to fall asleep.

We made sure both of our subsequent children were presented ceremoniously with their own One-y and it was never left behind.

The first photograph shows Joanna at ELISABETH’S wedding; she has no need for one-ys these days but has to provide them for others; the second shows William in his crib but it wasn’t from there he took HIS one-y. Both photos courtesy of John Armstrong.

I’m off on my travels for a week or two.

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