When I was young I had an assortment of carers, after school, holidays, weekends. It comes with having parents who both worked. It was much less formal than now, I assume they got paid, but there were certainly no checks. The one I remember most clearly was Marion. She lived in a beach house (two railway carriages put together with a space between and a roof over the middle) next door to my best holiday friend and had an assortment of people staying with her and, always, poodles. The small yappy variety, grey and smelly but very affectionate. She had a greenhouse full of fuchsias and, wonder of wonders, a TV. I spent lots of summers there, mostly playing on the beach. Not a beach as you would think, sand and sand castles, but a good, old fashioned, hard to walk on, pebble beach.
One summer was the one my dad died. He was taken ill and I was sent into the garden until the ambulance collected him and then to Marion's. He never came home and I never saw him again, children weren't allowed in hospitals in those days. I sat watching Wimbledon, Chris Evert, so I know it was summer. I was nine.
About me: how much difference has it made growing up without a father? How can you know? My Mum was always busy, but so are many mums. We has enough money for reasonable comfort, very few holidays, but that was usual then. I has a de facto stepfather from when about 12, but no real emotional relationship there, and he didn't live with us until I was at boarding school, and even then wasn't there during the holidays. Physical affection was not a factor in our family. I remember Dad carrying me on his shoulders, but not with enough memory pictures to be sure it was a real event.
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