Mid-summer 1971 – Recently enveloped by imposing thunder clouds, the West Yorkshire skies darkened as a babe in arms, later to be known as ‘The Rebellious One’, makes her inaugural appearance on this dysfunctional planet.
The arrival not a virgin birth, or consequently marked by a reverential visit by three wise men. Not too big a surprise, I guess, when your existential curtain call is in the borough of Dewsbury.
The mother, Judith, weeps as she first claps eyes on her swaddling wrapped child for the first time. Either that or their dew filled peepers are struggling to come to terms with smoke emanating from her new daughter’s inaugural capstan cigarette… Mum also ponders how it’s possible for a babe to be already wearing swaddling clothing upon delivery.
Proud dad, Edwin, sat waiting room in situ, is beckoned into the delivery ward. Once inside, he peers into a cradle to witness a beautiful baby girl. Unaware he’d ventured to an incorrect cot; the elated father is scolded by a midwife for picking up the wrong child.
Upon reaching the correct manger, Eddie picks up the daughter he and his wife have chosen to call Sarah after their favourite singer Lulu. Staring lovingly into his progeny’s bleary eyes he turns to the midwife and asks if he and Judith can keep the first new-born he picked up as “She’s got a smaller nose.”
A query which brings a look of disbelief from the medical staff, along with a rollocking from the exhausted Judith. Who, after delivering her admonishment, stretches to remove the capstan from her tot’s mouth.
Considering it suffering traumatic delivery, the baby seems remarkably contented. At the sight of three sixes, though, the mother had huge concerns her little girl had been born bearing the sign of the beast.
Mercifully, these fears soon quashed by her husband who advised, bereft of paper, he’d written the sixes on the babe’s head. These numbers the first three digits of a local taxi telephone number for his later journey home… Apparently, Edwin’s pen had run out of ink after the third number.
Family flocked to see the new-born sprog. Adoring cooing an almost constant soundscape in the delivery ward that afternoon. Nurses and midwifes furious at Eddie for opening a window, allowing all the bloody noisy pigeons into the room… Visiting family were similarly put out at the din, bird poop and general avian scavenging.
Sarah’s initial contentment didn’t last long. Her serenity soon turning to loud cries and a hugely vocal inaugural tantrum… Well, Judith only has herself to blame for taking the capstan off her daughter, didn’t she?!
On her first day living on this capricious planet, there were no obvious outward signs of the rebellious streak the babe would adopt in later childhood. After all, at that stage Sarah was too young to unrulily dash to the back seat on buses, antagonise nerdier types, or skip school… Anarchistic traits she would adopt in her teens. An age when the only times she’d stay at school were if there was going to be a protest of some sort, such as over wearing uniforms or the schoolwide banning of ‘a dog ate my homework’ excuse.
No, the most rebellious behaviour she could manage on the day of her birth was smoking a capstan, filling her nappy and confrontationally. asking a midwife “What the f*** are you looking at?!”… Incidentally, clearly two of those are fictional… You might be surprised which one is true!!… Or maybe not.
Half a century later, as a grown ass woman, I met this baby for the first time. A chance rendezvous which would change my life for the better, irrespective of subsequent accompanying dramas and her penchant for administering cutting insults.
To close I wanted to share a social media post I sent her yesterday:- “Happy Birthday to my partner in crime, Sarah!… Another year of laughter, memories, you teaching me new swear words and that Cheerios are an effective alternative as fire pit fuel… Love you Brooky, even though you’re an absolute chuffing lunatic! Xx”
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