My Lost Toddlerhood

In 1976, during the big summer drought, I wrote one of my first full‑length stories: Higreaves . I was ten years old. I shared a crowded bedroom with my identical twin, Eve. Our creativity often spilled into stories, drawings, pantomimes and games. But something is terribly wrong with ‘ Higreaves ’ (not of the common spelling, Hargreaves). Higreaves forms a window into a sinister corner of my subconscious. To something I mustn’t see. This post explores my strange story, imagery, and what it says about my early childhood. For this is what fuelled my story. My toddlerhood to be precise.   Drawing reconstructing the story. Everyone is wearing masks and falling unconscious. Image right shows the original document. A Childhood Story about a Real Event Higreaves is set in a “park,” I can now see it was really our garden. The lamppost, the laurel tree, the lawn — all can be found in my garden. It’s not a park at all. The story opens with a ‘Mr Jenesy’ sweeping the ‘park’. A passer‑by call...

Growing up as an identical twin in a crowded cottage in Seventies England shaped my world. Eve (my mirror image twin) and I were born in 1965. She was right‑handed, and I am left. For years we shared a bedroom, sometimes with other siblings. Our twinship was a buffer against my childhood chaos: Dad’s mental illness, poverty, and the volatile atmosphere that hung over the house. And yet, creativity flourished. Having younger siblings and niblings, I had an audience for my stories and pantomimes. My diaries testify of spending time in the playhouse, sitting on the swing, and inventing mysteries. Nan’s (maternal) visits brought stability, against the ructions that often broke out. My First Diary: 1977 and the Birth of My Inner World In 1977, I began writing in a small blue Letts’ Schoolgirl’s Diary. The pages were tiny but tell a lot about a child who hated school and often zoned out in a fantasy world. That diary marks the beginning of my lifelong documentation — and the evolution of my ...

Tales from Daler Cottage is about my children’s stories written between the ages of 9 and 16. The years would have been 1975 to 1982. During this time, I was completely unaware of a terrible truth about my life. I was living in Daler Cottage, the given name of my childhood home. My book, Tales from Daler Cottage . In April 1985, at the age of 19, I would start a novel called The Lessons . This novel was fuelled by a fantasy world that was burning me up inside. For the next thirty years, I would struggle with this novel, oblivious to this truth about myself. The story of The Lessons is covered in my other book. The Strange Power of Early Stories Prior to my novel-writing phase, I was writing mysteries, poems, drawing, painting and devising plays. I kept a diary between 1977 and 1988. I went to art school between 1981 and 1986, all during complete oblivion to my past. I would continue to write and paint for many years to come. My diaries illuminate the circumstances surrounding ...

This article is about my novel called The Lessons . Strictly speaking, it is not a novel at all, but something far more sinister. The dictionary lacks a word for what The Lessons actually is, but has provided a two-way mirror that hides a life behind my own reflection.   How The Lessons Began in My Teenage Years At the age of 19, I made the momentous decision to being this novel – on April 23 1985, to be precise. I know this because I kept a diary between 1977 and 1988. As soon as I began, an illness cut me down for a week. I thought nothing of it, determined I was going to begin this novel as soon as I felt better. Little did I realise how this novel would affect my life. Me during one of my writing episodes. A fantasy world burned me up inside. The Hidden Story Beneath The Lessons I kept my novel secret from family and friends. I feverishly read books on how-to write novels, sitting in my flat for hours on end, eking out a few sentences. During episodes, ...

For most of my life, I believed my childhood had been simple: a small cottage, my siblings, my parents, and the occasional visit from Nan. But the truth was far darker. A single moment would shatter everything I believed in and reveal a memory my mind had buried for almost fifty years. The following describes the moment my world collapsed as the truth about my toddlerhood emerges, reshaping my identity and understanding my past. The Moment My World Fell Apart But I hadn't had a cosseted childhood at all. In fact, the opposite. I suffered intrusive thoughts and a secret fantasy world fuelled by a childhood familiar which I called Aidan. I explained my odd experiences to growing up in a chaotic household with a mentally ill father and depressive mother. Cramped living conditions and poverty created further challenges. I am ok with this and have come to terms with it. The Memory That Returned After 50 Years However, a series of events would reveal that my lifelong passion for novel...

This excerpt shows how a fictional scene in one of my novels, mirrors a real event my brain had hidden from me. This reflective memoir of uncovering long‑buried childhood trauma, illustrates the moment the horrific memory surfaced. Understanding Dissociation Through Fiction I am now at my final novel, Nadia . I pause on spotting a broken bottle in a key scene. I continue gleaning, expecting to find further clues to the day my twin Eve had cut her face. Instead I find a character I had based upon my uncle. He is a narcissistic doctor that runs a care-home where Nancy, the main character used to work. This excerpt shows how my fictional scene mirrors the real event my mind had hidden from me. In the key scene, the creepy doctor's voice enters Nancy's head as she tries to save the life of a choking occupant of the limo by puncturing a hole in his windpipe. The Moment the Memory Broke Through I wonder why I had put Uncle Dan there. He wasn’t present when Eve's accident occurre...

A haunting childhood memory has exposed dissociation in my toddlerhood, fear and the impact of trauma. An early memory is about to open out to me and my life would suddenly make sense. Reading My Novels as Evidence I have been scouring my psychological thrillers for clues about the day my twin had cut her face. It appeared the trauma stored in my subconscious at the age of 4 had seeped into key scenes of my stories. I am horrified and fascinated at what has happened to me. I am no longer reading my novels as fiction, but as documents that hold clues to an early childhood trauma. Diary entry showing my obsessive novel writing. I never got the see my parents that day, for writing a scene. The image shows my diary entry of 27 September 1987. My novel writing has become obsessive. I had written: " Spent all day doing nothing but typing pages, re-typing and typing again. There were 12 I had to copy, not counting the mistakes I had to correct and even to write. I had to lie to Mark ...

I am about to solve the mystery of the missing four hours. A childhood sensation called a somatic memory would reveal psychological fragmentation and the imprint of early trauma. The Mystery of the Missing Hours After talking to my identical twin about her terrible accident that occurred when we were 4, I discovered things about that day that didn’t fit. I had thrown a glass bottle at Eve after a squabble. On seeing blood on her face, I had dashed out of the cottage to hide somewhere in the garden. For decades I had believed I had wandered in a daze for 10 minutes or so before returning via the back door. However, I have since realized that the light had radically changed between my dash out of the cottage and my return. Not only that, but Eve had already been stitched up and was laying on Mum’s lap. I had not encountered a family member the entire time Eve was in hospital. So where had I gone? Finding Answers to my Toddlerhood I naturally ask Mum about that day but she is by now te...

A disturbing gap in childhood memory would become a key turning point in uncovering the truth about my toddlerhood. One evening in 1996, my twin and I discuss the day she had cut her face with the glass bottle at the age of 4. I had been suffering a run of intrusive thoughts and was seeing a counsellor at the time. In an attempt to get to the root of these disturbing episodes, I had been going through my diaries. Revisiting the Accident We both clarify what had happened that day: we had a disagreement over orange juice and I had thrown a glass bottle at her. I dash out of the cottage in terror after seeing her bloodied face. Eve was then rushed to hospital. No one was present when the accident occurred. My route out of the back door after Eve's accident in 1969 Twenty Years Later — Something Doesn’t Fit As decades have since passed and Eve has had corrective surgery in 1981, the day was forgotten and Eve holds no resentment towards me. I am grateful to her, not only for puttin...

This article describes how years of compulsive writing would one day show me the trauma I carry. My fiction thrillers conversely carry fact. I am about to find out I have been living a lie. The Aftermath of Colwyn Bay I truly believed Colwyn Bay had almost claimed my children after they had drifted out to sea in floats. Once I had led them back to the beach, a mysterious depression had descended upon me. The creepy feeling of an earlier ‘me’ running within my body as I darted into the sea kept lingering. The Thunderstorm Within Throughout my life I have suffered intrusive thoughts and a dirty-blame feeling which I explained to a troubled childhood of warring parents and Dad’s mental illness. Countless creative pursuits and projects formed a diversion including painting, and particularly novel writing. A secret fantasy world had been a consistent force throughout my life and it felt like an alternative reality. For decades, a childhood familiar whom I called Aidan haunted my imagini...

In the summer of 1985, I spent weeks painting a railway tunnel without understanding why the site bothered me. Thirty‑two years later, after uncovering the truth about my toddlerhood, I returned to the tunnel. It is now 5 May 2018. Eighteen months have now passed since I uncovered the horrific truth of my toddlerhood . I continue to struggle to come to terms with what I have found. Returning to the Tunnel After 32 Years Secret messages to my trauma emerged from the manner in which I composed two landscape settings for alfresco painting. The first one was a railway tunnel and and gate , where I produced paintings in the summer of 1985. Feeling that something was amiss, I placed a dead tree against the gate at the mouth of the railway bridge. My paintings and drawings of the dead tree and tunnel Messages within the Landscape The second setting was a tumbledown barn in a field in the summer of 1986. Again, feeling that something was amiss, I placed a plank across the doorway. My ba...

At around the age of 14, I began to draw a man’s face. The man had broad features, shaggy dark hair and a fierce glower. I didn’t know where he came from. Before long, I was compulsively drawing this man in the margins of sketchbooks and puzzlers. When I was bored or when life seemed to hold little meaning, I would draw him. I disliked and feared him yet I sensed he needed something from me. As no one of that description lived with us, I assumed he was a fictional character. Aidan who was never a childhood familiar The Drawings That Haunted My Adolescence Before long, something psychologically dangerous happened.   I imagined living his life and I put myself in his shoes. I injected part of myself behind his face. As a result, my feelings for this man grew conflicting. My dislike for him remained but now I felt guilty and responsible for him. I even cared about him. This is because I had placed my humanity behind the face of a man who was in fact callous. The resultant concocti...

My diaries are extraordinary because they were written by someone who was unaware that her toddlerhood had been stolen by an uncle who lived in her childhood home throughout 1968. I was 3 at the time. In October 2016, a month before my mother’s death, the message about my toddlerhood would finally get through: via my novels. I would then see the clues to lost innocence stamped all over my artwork, my stories and my diaries.   This article is about my diaries. My diaries My First Diary (1977): Innocence on the Page I kept a diary between 1977 and 1988. I had my first diary for Christmas when I was 11. This first diary, which was a Letts Schoolgirl’s Diary was small and therefore contributions were brief, being a sentence or so. My first ever entry was on Dec 26 1976: “Went to church. Had a fight with an older sister. She had the blame. Played organ and games, Mastermind and Top Form.” My 1977 diary On 9 January 1977, I made my first mention of writing a story: Solomy’s Tre...