I was born in Wales, UK, in the 1960s, in the grounds of a hospital that had been a 19th century workhouse. Here the poor once worked for nothing more than food and shelter, served by that grim place. Forty one years later, my mother would spend the last weeks of her life, ill in one of the wards.

My parents had tried to have children for many years, but couldn’t. After medical treatment my mother became pregnant, and gave birth to a baby girl – she was born dead. My mother said she felt her stop kicking about a week before she was born.

My mother was told she couldn’t have any more children. I was born to an apparently sterile woman; she had no more children after me.

When I arrived home from the hospital, I was welcomed by my grandfather and the pet dog, who climbed up onto my pram and gently rested the side of his face against mine. He would follow me everywhere I went after that; he was a guard dog in a way.

My grandparents had hard lives. Both men worked in the coal mines for very little pay. They both started work at the age of twelve. On my mother’s side, Harry worked underground hacking away at the coal seam with a pick, on his hands and knees in water, surrounded by rats.

As soon as the First World War started, he joined up. He was one of the few who joined the army in 1914, who survived to see its end in 1918. He took part in major battles, including the Somme and was wounded twice; once when attacking a German trench.

As he jumped into it, a German bayonet went through his groin – he killed the man and fought on. Another time he was blinded by mustard gas: he was blind for a year. This took him away from fighting for a year and probably saved his life. With his sight back, he returned to the fighting.

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Background to my Childhood