Childhood memory.

I started of as an only for the first 13 years of my life. In one way I loved it but in another way I hated it. Called talking to yourself the first sign of madness but it created my world, no one answered me back other than my dolls and soft toys. On the other hand it was a lonely world when their isn't anyone who can communicate or and understand you. When there are a lot of adults around the world seems bigger and better than what you are.

When I was ten years old, I walked into class on Monday morning after the weekend. I knew what I had do, write in my rough about what I did over the weekend, this was about the only thing liked doing in school apart from art, history, English and swimming.

Not many children including myself got on with Old Miss Cole at Kingswood Special boarding Albrighton Wolverhampton. Even the look of her scared us let alone when she shouted at us. I can see this woman only about 50 looking over 90 when I think about it today. Her clacked wriggled face, her black and white dog checked coat. Everyday I used to dread facing her but my word I respect so much for making me the person I am today.

My word I wish I would have kept my rough books because I wrote some things that were and were not true just because I loved writing yet I had no thoughts of wanting to be a writer. Some stories were true one Monday, next Monday untrue stories and Monday after true and untrue was mixed.
My Nan Letty was my Mother, my Mother Jane known as Sam was my sister, my Auntie Vicci was my sister and my Nan as my Mother had at least three made up children in my stories. Many I have forgotten because I wrote in 1979. My writing about that weekend, the events were true but some people were real but different people.

When Miss Cole read my work, she went mad as she slapped my leg with a ruler, which shock me up for the rest of day. As for my writing, it helped me create my own world gave me grief off adults in the real world. In the end taught me not to tell lies only in writing stories or if I have to tell white lies. I never thought about wanting to be a writer until I was 23 but as for my rough book I was just a lonely child.

" Telling lies can get you into big trouble, Sara!"