Nigel 
July 27th, 2009
Mum, Dad, please let me out of the cotton wool
What is it these days with stopping kids doing anything remotely real?
When I was a kid we were rarely driven anywhere. We walked, cycled, or caught the bus. All kids (that I knew) had bikes. Okay so it was the fifties and sixties and there were fewer cars on the road and society hadn’t invented road-rage, but we were let out to cycle on our own where we wanted to go. I was slow having been born with punier muscles than the average kid.
One day on the Downs (which are at the top of the Avon gorge) in Bristol my friends got way ahead and then decided to turn around. As they cycled back past me they shouted, and naturally I started to turn across the road to follow them. There was an instant of confusion, and then I found I was on the road and in pain with a car looming over me. An elderly passenger was quite distressed, but the driver did his best to help. No mobile phones, so I guess someone called at a local house for the ambulance. I wasn’t badly hurt as road accidents go, but enough to be a great deal more aware of cars next time I got on a bike.
We often used to go exploring the golf course and the woods beyond. We’d be gone for hours and have a great time climbing trees and making shelters and fighting and poking through the undergrowth looking for creepy-crawlies. It never rained, or so it seemed. We failed miserably to be kidnapped by strange men or fall off one of the cliffs.
It was with my parents, again on the Downs, that I did meet an odd guy. I’d gone exploring in the woods, and after gazing at a limestone outcrop wishing I was brave enough to climb it I wandered through a denser area and met a really nice person. He was much more interested in what I was up to than my parents were. We sat on a log and chatted, but after a while he put his hand on my leg and began to slide it up under my shorts. This puzzled me. I told him not to do that. He tried again. It made me feel uncomfortable so I got up and went on my way. Some time later I returned to my parents and mentioned the odd behaviour of this very nice man, and they sort of explained to me that if it ever happened again I should fetch them at once. Why? Never mind, just do it. I was allowed to wander off on my own exploring, but they gave bought me a whistle.
I’ve only met two people who have admitted being sexually abused as a child. In one case it was her father. In the other his parents died in a car crash and he was assaulted over many years by some of the people paid to look after him.
I broke my arm in a games lesson at school. My parents did not threaten to sue the school. Things like that happen, it wasn’t anyone’s fault. The school took me to hospital, and left me there with the god-like presence of a prefect to look after me. I was repackaged in a rather neat plaster cast and sent home. For a month I had the joy of learning to write with my left hand, and was the centre of attention as I got to choose who could write on the cast. Yes of course it hurt but so what? At school the Headmaster used the cane sparingly and wisely. Only a couple of my friends were ever caned (in ten years) but you thought twice before skipping detention or switching labels on chemical bottles in the science lab.
Yes, shockingly dangerous though it must appear we did most of the science experiments ourselves. I rarely got the results promised by the text book, but I learned a lot from trying to use the equipment for myself. I never heard of anyone being hurt.
It may seem strange to twenty first century kids but we were content without mobile phones, home computers, ready meals, Child Protection and Human Rights acts. We were more likely to survive childhood because the rate of teenage suicide was lower. I believe we came out of it stronger for being allowed to take risks and sometimes get hurt. We were certainly fitter, healthier, slimmer, and respected ourselves and other people. And frankly I think we were a lot happier too.