MEMOIRS OF A NOBODY (CHAPTER 1)

MEMOIRS OF A NOBODY   (chapters 2, 3 and 4 are on the right hand side of this page. Click each one individually to carry on reading)

(Note: It may start off a bit boring but I promise you, it really becomes a roller coaster ride, so hold on tight!)

 

CHAPTER ONE

My life may be different from many of you, with experiences that will shock and entertain you, but basically we all have stories to tell in some form or another and the lessons we learn from our experiences affect us all in different ways. Hearing my story may make you think of your own lives and why you have become what you are today.

I was born in New York City on the 12th April 1950. The hospital where I spent my very first night on earth was on 5th Avenue (Park East Hospital) and was eventually turned into a “Ladies’ Hotel”, only to be torn down years later for new luxury apartments. David Cassidy (of the Partridge Family TV programme and later a pop star) was born on the same night as me in the next room. His mother and mine became friends for a few months but later lost touch (as one does). One of my brothers was also born there.

I started my life with a silver spoon in my mouth. When I was conceived, my parents lived on Riverside Drive, which in those days was a prestigious place to live, but not the crème de la crème abode for the New York Elite.

My father at that time was working for NBC. He was English but went to America in 1923 when he was only 19 and worked his way up from a copywriter working on the Listerine account to Vice President of Promotion for NBC until the early 50’s.  During World War II, he was an Intelligence Officer with the US Army. He had recently become an American citizen to enable him to do so.

His father (my grandfather) had been a political cartoonist for major London Newspapers but his claim to fame was that he drew the original clipper ship on the “Ship” matchbox which is still sold today.  My father told me he remembered watching him draw it at his desk when he was 4 years old.  

My mother was the daughter of a well known Bishop. Well known, because he was a staunch believer that America should fight against Nazi Germany long before they actually did. His views were widely quoted in the International press and because of that, local Nazi sympathisers had threatened to kidnap his youngest son, my uncle,  (who was 4 years old at the time), in protest of my grandfather’s views. Living in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania at the time, there was a large German population throughout the area, most of which supported their home country still. So my uncle was sent to his grandmother in Tennessee to be cared for until he was out of danger. That was to be 10 long years. My great grandmother was a highly educated woman who firmly believed that a first class education was probably the most important thing anyone could achieve.  Hence my uncle ended up as a leading scholar, having graduated from King’s College Cambridge, author of 10 books and professor at Florida University.

My mother, on the other hand, also had a very interesting childhood but quite different from her youngest brother. She stayed with her parents who because of their position in society were constantly entertaining Heads of State, historians and countless other important people. They lived in a Bishop’s Palace as it was called in those days. They had a minstrel gallery, a banqueting hall, and their own chapel (where my parents were actually married). My mother had a wild streak when she was young and often roller skated throughout the house which was vast. She actually broke both of her wrists simultaneously when she roller-skated down the main street and crashed into a shop window. I think I have inherited her bravado (some may call it stupidity). In spite of this, my mother became a very poised, sophisticated and very cultured lady and remained like that until the day she died. I have always felt I was the total opposite to her in almost every way, and it was a constant thorn in my side as I felt like a bull in a china shop next to her.

I had two older brothers, and they were plagued by severe asthma in the appalling New York weather. The doctors told my parents, that if they didn’t leave the cold climate of the East Coast, that they might die. So my father, who was a devoted family man, decided to quit his job and move us all out to the Arizona desert where reportedly, the weather was medicinal for asthma sufferers. There, my oldest brother contracted a lung condition called Valley Fever which kept him in bed for a year, and my second brother developed a severe allergy to dust, requiring weekly injections. So much for Arizona being the answer to their health problems! I was the only healthy child in the family.

……….wait for the next instalment tomorrow!