When we had three children under ten years old my husband and I moved to a Greek island. Their ages were 4, 8 and 10. To survive we took whatever jobs, that were available. It often entailed both of us being out at work at the same time. Being new to the island I found it hard to trust my children to a complete stranger. Mostly, we could cover the childcare between us but for the times that both of us were committed I felt that actually the only person I could really trust on the island was my eldest son. He was intelligent and articulate. Very much in charge of himself and much older than his years.
In some ways, he had already hit adolescence
and entered the stormy waters of rebellion.
He hated being on the island and was vociferous in complaining of the injustice of it all. My other sons suffered probably more but did
so in steadfast enduring silence. My
eldest son was furious with our decision to drag him out of his UK school
across Europe to an island school where pupils and teachers spoke only Greek. In typical fashion he combined withering
argument with practical intent. While
blaming us for this miserable choice he immediately set himself the task of
learning Greek. Obviously, his campaign
of a speedy UK return might not succeed so he was concerned his back up plan
would be up and running. Unknown to us,
he was making friends and learning the new language fast. School helped and a good mind when combined
with a competitive edge brought him quick success. Within months he became the family translator. Some of the dialects he found hard to follow
but even then he preserved. After all,
many of the island Greeks themselves struggled with the peculiar village
accents. So when it came to leaving my
children I decided there could be no safer hands than this obstreperous elder
son. When leaving, I would announce to
his siblings, “Obey your brother as you would me!” After all, leaving a ten year old in charge
was dangerous enough, without authority it would be impossible. He turned out to be fair and firm. Much more even tempered than myself. I once returned to find the four year old banished
to his bedroom and ran to find a sobbing child howling pathetically. However, when I questioned him as to the
fairness of his punishment, the four year old reassured me by announcing that
he’d been a very bad boy indeed and deserved his punishment.
This ten year old’s zero tolerance of bad
behaviour was combined with a level-headed approach. No huge swings in emotion like his
mother. He was a pragmatic child-minder. Marshalling his considerable skills to this
task just as he had to the Greek language barrier and with equal success. He did not believe in corporal punishment or
verbal abuse. H seemed to have twigged at a young age that when you have a
modicum of control over yourself, control of others becomes easier. What pleased me was the good humour he brought
to the task. He may have hated being on
this island and furious with his parents for transplanting him but he did not
vent his fury on his younger siblings. A
sense of justice was a reassuring quality to find in this rebellious
youngster. His capacity as a major caregiver
meant over the years he felt empowered to point out my inadequacies as a
mother. These, I had to take on the
chin. If someone has filled your shoes
with skill and good humour they are entitled to point out your failings. It has long been apparent to me that my mother,
of the generation above, and my son, the generation below were infinitely
better at this is parenting business than me.
I brought a lot of love to the task but very little practical
ability. My sons have proved themselves
long suffering and remarkably loving in response. They are much nicer human beings than I,
thanks goodness! As a parent, I look on
in amazement that I was given the privilege of having such lovely characters in
my life. It has been epic to share
life’s journey with them. Never, in all
the years of working in UK and Europe did I ever experience the quality of
these three very different individuals. I suspect all mothers feel the same,
but I feel duty-bound to be thankful for the gift they have been.
To my eldest son thanks for being that odd mixture
of intelligence and lightness of spirit.
To my middle son for the loving creative intuition he brings to all
encounters. For my youngest I can only
celebrate his fearless passion and honesty.
But, I know with a deep certainty that we
were not left alone on that island. A
marvellous array of wonderful people flooded into our lives. From all walks of life they surged around our
home. Jimmy and Eleni, Tzampika an
George, Ursula, Harold and Arline, Lyndsay. Maria, Dimetrious, Una, Karen,
Zeni, Themis, Eleni, Vasilis, Leive, Mary and Nizam the list goes on and
on. My sons were surrounded by gems in
the community. I can only bow my head in appreciation for all those who stepped
in and stayed in our life, filling it with love and laughter.
