Three weeks was a long time to be stationed away from the only security I knew with my mother, to an aunt and uncle who I did not know at all, in a strange house, a journey of some one and a half hours from London. Just see it from my point of view, that on my return, I was presented with a little baby sister, with whom I must have competed for time and attention of my mother. Again, I cannot remember specifically feeling any jealousy towards my sister then, or later, but maybe it was an even deeper feeling that I have never been conscious of. However, throughout my childhood, jealousy towards school-friends always came into the picture. I was the responsible older sister to my two younger sisters, but also liked to laud it over them as the older sister sometimes, when I would chase them around the place, pretending to be a great monster.

My middle sister reminded me of some of these games in recent years, which served to bring them to my attention, as I had forgotten those times. On the whole I remembered always being the responsible, older sister, and trying to keep my two sisters in order, as was expected of the older child. However, I also remember visits to the seaside where I was scared to get out of the car to go for a walk onto the beach with my sisters, leaving my parents in the car, and I always had that feeling that they might not be there when I came back. This feeling was a very strong one and I absolutely felt I had to remain in sight of my parents, so that they could not disappear from my view. It was the only way I could keep some sort of control, but of course it did not present like that, and no one could understand why I would not go and play as my two sisters did. But then how could I explain that sort of feeling to my parents at the time? It all tended to come out the wrong way, and I felt stupid, and understood that my behaviour was silly. Yet at the time I did not associate it with my early separation and anxiety.

Later in my teenage years I developed a favourite character in a book. Perhaps I modelled myself on her. My favourite was Maggie Tulliver in ‘Mill On The Floss’ by George Eliot. Her great need as a young girl was to be loved, and I felt the same, to the extent that I identified with her, feeling that what I needed in my life was to be loved. On one occasion when I had had my nervous breakdown, I remember sitting with my husband in the doctor’s surgery, describing my feelings of need like Maggie Tulliver, but making it quite clear, that that was in the past, and now it was OK. So, although these feelings sunk into the back of my consciousness when I read the book at 15, these bare, essential needs of mine were clearly expressed when my emotions were upturned, and I tried to describe how I was feeling.