I am delighted to hear that Shannon Matthews has been found alive, though whether one can also use the term ‘safe and well’ is, I suspect, a long way off. Once again, however, my heart goes out to the parents of Madeleine McCann and all those other less high-profile children still AWOL from the bosom of their families. I cannot imagine what it is like to have to endure such a thing. It makes me realise that the world has changed beyond recognition from the world I grew up in.
I really did have a perfect childhood. I grew up on Cyprus, where my dad was stationed, in the 1980’s, before the onslaught of package holidayers. Ayia Napa- now a well-known ‘hotspot’ and all round party town was just a little fishing village. Every house had an old widow, dressed head-to-toe in black, sitting on a hard backed chair outside the front door. She was usually making lace. There was a local coffee place populated only by men who sat listening to the radio and discussing manly things with the local Orthodox priest who wore a funny hat. The main industry apart from fishing was the only petrol pump in the area. And it had the most amazing beaches, which we used to visit most days after school (which finished at 1pm during the summer and 2pm in the winter.) The locals thought we were mad for sitting out in the sun and frolicking in the waves.
School was at the end of our road and had a whole 70 pupils at its busiest. It used to have several hundred before ‘the war’ when the island was divied up between Cypriot and Turk, so had a very large plot with lots of extra buildings that were used for various activities and clubs, not just by the school children, but also the soldiers and their families. The girls wore gingham dresses made by their mothers in a multitude of colours and the boys wore white shorts and grey shorts. The buildings were single storey with corrugated iron roofs that sounded like drums whenever it rained. They all had big verandas which kept off the sun, or the rain, and were interspersed with flower beds that grew Birds of Paradise, Bougainvillea and Hibiscus. There were big playgrounds with netball courts and football pitches painted on them in different colours, the lines also used as markers by those who did their cycling proficiency test. There was a small assembly hall where we met every morning and sang Beatles hits whose lyrics were painted on the wall by the overhead projector. There was a big sports hall that became a theatre every winter when the school put on a panto. The script was written by the Headmaster, Mr Sullivan, and there was a part for every student. The mums made all the costumes and anyone on base with a degree of creativity was drafted in to help with the sets. I don’t think it ever felt like school.
Across the road from the school was the Kindergarten, side-by-side with the play park which had a very large slide that used to burn your bottom if you tried to see it in the middle of the day. We used to play there after school, and sneak over the fence into the Kindie play park, because we could. I once twisted my ankle and two friends had to get me back over the fence before we could raise the alarm, so that we didn’t get in trouble (that was my brother’s job!) The Chief Firemaster carried me all the way home…mum says she could hear me crying from the end of the road. It really was village life. Doors were left unlocked and kids were allowed out from dawn until dusk during the holidays without supervision, provided they didn’t do anything stupid (brother’s job) and checked in every three hours. We just roamed free, going to the MMG (Mission to Military Garrison) for a fizzy drink and piece of homemade cake if our mum’s had given us the money, or to look in their shop. There was the NAAFI (can’t remember what that stands for) supermarket, the swimming pool, other people’s houses and the base. There was a sports camp every summer, where you could try out archery and horse riding, trampolining and shooting. There was a cinema that showed 1960’s matinee movies every Saturday morning, which we’d all walk to. There was Brownies and Cubs, the Youth club and summer Sunday School. We had total freedom to wander and be kids. There was television -programmes recorded a few days earlier from the BBC and piped round the base- for about two hours every night. There were very few computers (think Amstrad- just for playing games, and you had to hook them up to your TV screen) and no mobile phones. We communicated in coded messages during school. There was barely any traffic and no need for stranger danger. In fact my parents used to drop me and my friends at one of the two local restaurants for my birthday supper and pick us, and the bill, up two hours later.
Life was very simple and life was very safe. I had 24 ‘big brothers’ from Dad’s work on hand to babysit/boss around. There was always some cricket match or game or Treasure Hunt or beach BBQ going on. It really was a case of a village raising a child. Raising all of us. I doubt very much that an army childhood is the same anymore, never mind a regular childhood. There are no youth clubs, no organised activities, nothing other than technology to occupy kids. And judging from the way they go missing on their way home from school, and from their hotel rooms, you can see why parents feel the need to keep their children close-by. And give them the DVDs, Playstations and mobile phones. I wonder if this is a reason for the rebellions, the drunken twelve year olds and the groups of yooves hanging out on street corners and in underpasses. How very lucky I was to have the freedom to be a child when I was a child, and what a different world I will be raising my daughter in.
