AGirlCalledBecki

InsomniaAndBooks

agirlcalledbecki — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 23:16:30 +0000

When I was a child sleep was something that never came naturally to me. I never slept for more than about two hours at a time until I was about 5 or six, and even then it took a long time for me to drop off. I also could not seem to sleep in my own bed, preferring instead to clamber in beside my parents at around two or three o’clock every night. This continued well into my childhood, until I was about ten. I was even taken to the doctor because of it. There was nothing they could do, however, and my mild insomnia continues to this day, although now it catches up with me and I am often exhausted during the day. It was during this time that my love of reading was developed. I used to go to bed at around half-past seven or eight o’clock and read until well into the early hours of the morning, when I would climb into my parents bed and finally fall asleep. Enid Blyton was by far my favourite author, with my favourite books being Six Cousins at Mistletoe Farm, Six Cousins Again, The Naughtiest Girl Series and The Twins at St. Clare’s Series. I was never overly fond of her more popular books, The Famous Five and The Secret Seven, although I have read most of each series.

NainAndTaid

agirlcalledbecki — Tue, 13 Oct 2009 15:21:31 +0000

My Taid, Charles Harper, was one of twelve children born to Carwyn and Llinos Harper. Carwyn, who was born on the same farm as his children, was the second eldest of eight children born to Wynn and Mererid Harper. Taid was born on a farm at the foot of Snowdon and spent the first years of his life here. At twelve he was sent to boarding school in Barmouth, where he stayed for the week before returning home for the weekend.

After leaving school, he got a job at the bank, where he met my Nain and, once he could prove to his bosses that he could support a family, they were married at Nain’s chapel in Aberdyfi.

Nain, who was working in the Bank in Aberystwyth when she met Taid, was the youngest of the three surviving children of Hywel and Ruth Wilson. Their first child, Eleri, was killed in a fire when she was two. Zara was their next child, followed by Hywel and then Nain. Zara lived in the family home in Aberdyfi until she died. While her mother was still alive, the two run a guesthouse, which attracted many well off and influential people. Charles Darwin’s grandson and his family often stayed with Naini and Auntie Zara, and the authors Berta Ruck and Oliver Onions lived with them.

EarlyYears

agirlcalledbecki — Sat, 10 Oct 2009 15:47:14 +0000

I don’t really remember much of my early years, by that I mean anything up to about five or six years old. But I do have some strong memories, that aren’t really about anything special at all. For instance, I remember sitting on the floor watching television with my mum at lunchtime. I remember watching the Australian/New Zealand soaps Home and Away, Neighbours and Shortland Street. Since Shortland Street was shown in the UK from 1993, I must have been about 3 or 4 at the time of these memories.

I can also remember my dad coming home from school, taking off his tie and jacket and pretending to throw his bag down on the settee. When we were very little, my dad used to work while my mum stayed at home to look after Dan and I. When we were a bit older, however, perhaps I was 6 or 7, they swapped over and dad took early retirement and stayed at home to look after us.

AlmostAbandoned

agirlcalledbecki — Thu, 08 Oct 2009 19:10:59 +0000

When I was about sixteen or seventeen months old, my parents took me on a week-long school trip with them. As my dad was a teacher when I was very young, he often took me into school with him on occasions such as sports days, Christmas and various other celebratory events. I have one memory of being half carried, half dragged along a racetrack during one sports day as all the children tried to help me along.

This particular trip, however, did not go so well. My mum was also there, having brought all my stuff and me in the car, while my dad went on the coach with the children and other members of staff. On the morning we were due to go home, my mum and another teacher had had to take one of the children to the hospital for some reason – a bee sting or something. Anyway, dad had left me with the hotel owner while he sorted out the children and got everything packed and organised.

As the bus started driving away down the road, the hotel owner, in something strongly resembling panic, appeared running along behind them, holding me aloft and shouting,

“Don’t you want her? Take this with you!”

I like to imagine this as similar to the scene out of Disney’s The Lion King, where Rafiki, the Mandrill (a type of monkey), holds the newborn Simba up in the air for all the other animals to have a good look at. In reality, however, I’m sure it was nothing like that moment – panic on the hotel owner’s behalf that he might be lumbered with a rather grumpy toddler and my dad hoping that my mum did not find out. She did, of course, but did not seem that bothered. She later told me that all she’d said was,

“Oh well… maybe the excitement will send her to sleep.”

TheFather

agirlcalledbecki — Wed, 07 Oct 2009 19:07:26 +0000

My dad was born, Robert Charles Harper, on March 17^th 1944 in Llanfyllin, North Wales. He was, and obviously still is, the youngest child and only son of my grandparents, Mair and Charles Harper. His older sisters Ellen Elsie, known as Elsie, and Rosalind Zara were also born in Llanfyllin and they lived here until my dad’s early teens.

Dad, as well as my aunties, has told me many stories about their early years here, including the teacher who forbade my dad from going to the local police man and his wife after school, where he was given bourbon biscuits. Rather than obeying his teacher’s orders, dad used to crawl under the hedge and visit the house anyway,

Auntie Rosie also told me about how she used to run home from school, via the train station so that she could get a lift in the engine as far as the bridge near their house, where the driver would stop and let her off. Nain told her off every single day for doing this before coming home, but auntie Rosie did it anyway.

There were also lots of stories about their summer holidays, which were always spent in Aberdyfi, the village where my Nain was born. Dad and auntie Rosie, along with several local children, used to torment the local ‘beach hut attendant’, John Pitts, and once dug a hole and covered it over with a towel before getting him to chase them over it. Luckily he was not hurt, but with hindsight both admitted that it was a stupid thing to do, however funny they found it at the time!

TheBirth

agirlcalledbecki — Sun, 04 Oct 2009 22:59:36 +0000

I was born Rebecca Mair Humphreys on the 6^th December 1990 in the Gloucester Royal hospital. My parents, Robert and Margaret were, I suppose, what is considered ‘geriatric parents’ as my mother was 36 and my father 46 when I was born.

Apparently my birth coincided with a terrible snowstorm, which greatly affected the journey of my Nain (my father’s mother) and his sister, Elsie, from coming to visit me in the hospital.

My mam has told me that when I was born I very closely resembled a hamster – with puffy cheeks and fluffy hair. She has since told me that I should (according to the general rule that having twins goes every other generation) have been a twin and that I was probably so fat because I’d eaten my brother/sister.

Anyway, so there I was, a tiny little baby girl, born in the middle of a snowstorm and without a name. My mam wanted to call me Vashti, after some distant relative of hers (possibly a great-aunt?) but luckily they settled on Rebekah. Although they thought people would get this spelling wrong, they wanted my name spelt like that because it would be different. In the end, my dad spelt it wrong on the birth certificate and I ended up plain old Rebecca anyway!

Hello World!

agirlcalledbecki — Sat, 03 Oct 2009 21:54:49 +0000

I was talking to some old people at work, and they were saying that it was such a shame that young people today have no idea about the lives of their parents or grandparents. I totally agree with this and I would love to know a lot more about my ancesters.

Therefore I decided that I was going to write something, a bit like an auto/biography of my life and the lives of my family so that in the future I and my family will be able to remember and pass things on.

This probably won’t be very interesting to anybody else, and I might change some names just to keep the privacy, but I need somewhere to keep it, and this is that place